Antidote
by Saltandsweat
Summary: When Remus Lupin arrives to teach Defence at Hogwarts, Severus Snape finds himself saddled with a LOT of potion-making – not to mention an irritatingly cheerful and intelligent new colleague. Why won't everyone just leave him alone to enjoy his newly flourishing sex life? (Very slow-burn Snape/Lupin. PoA timeline, quite AU in places.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Severus Snape was running late.

This was unusual enough in itself. Severus was very rarely late for anything. But what made it truly remarkable was that he was running late to get to Lucius Malfoy's, and _that_ had never happened before.

The trouble was, it was Lucius's birthday. He had planned it well. He had chosen a book, naturally, but one he thought Lucius would find readable enough to be interesting, but unusual enough not to be insulting: _The Curses of Tutankhamen's Tomb_. He had placed the order at Flourish and Blott's six weeks ago. He had congratulated himself on solving the problem.

And then, late yesterday, came the last-minute owl from the bookshop telling him they had had problems sourcing the book, and it wouldn't arrive on time. So now he had to start again from scratch, with only a day to choose a new present. Shopping was one of Severus's pet hates; shopping under time pressure was his worst nightmare.

It was almost a relief, therefore, as he strode towards Knockturn Alley, to bump into – or rather, be bumped into by – Albus Dumbledore, who looked remarkably pleased to see him. 'Severus! How are you, my friend?'

'Tolerable,' Severus replied, rubbing his shoulder where it had hit the book Dumbledore was carrying under his arm. He glanced at the book's cover out of professional habit. It was a brand new copy of _Warts, Weather and Worry: Remedies and Antidotes for Daily Life._ Severus had borrowed, read and digested this book at the age of twelve; the potions section was mostly out of date and badly researched. He wondered why on earth Dumbledore might want it now.

Dumbledore, of course, noticed him looking at the book. 'Ah, yes! I was going to ask for a loan of yours, but I'm afraid I needed it rather urgently, so I thought I would buy a copy. Hopefully Madam Pince will be happy to take it afterwards.'

'She already has it,' Severus said shortly. He didn't want to be rude, but he really was in a prodigious hurry.

The Headmaster's expression grew serious. 'You've heard about Sirius Black, I assume?'

Severus had heard – or, rather, he had read about it in the paper, the inexplicable escape of the murderous Black from Azkaban. Black's name was one he had hoped never to lay eyes on again. It was one of four such names.

'Yes,' he said. 'Unprecedented. I'm sorry, Albus, but I really must be going. I'm running late.'

'You, Severus?' There was an amused twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. 'Surely not. But there are one or two things I need to tell you.' The Headmaster's expression became grave. 'The first is that Fudge is insisting on stationing Dementors in the Hogwarts grounds this term, because of Black. Needless to say, I don't approve of this, but his mind appears to be made up. I'm sure your Patronus charm is in perfect order – you will need to be prepared to use it at any time.'

Severus nodded, frowning. People accused him of spreading gloom and unhappiness around Hogwarts – mostly Flitwick and Sprout when they'd had too much to drink – but the Dementors were another game entirely. His one encounter with them had been one too many.

'The second thing,' Dumbledore continued, 'is that I've appointed another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.'

Severus raised an eyebrow.

'I know, I know, you didn't actually apply for it this time, but I thought it was the decent thing to let you know.'

'As long as it's someone better than Gilderoy Lockhart, I really couldn't care less about the Dark Arts job,' Severus said coldly.

'_Defence Against_ the Dark Arts, Severus,' Dumbledore corrected. 'I'd rather you used its full name. I don't want anyone accusing you of making Freudian slips.'

Severus gave a tight smile. 'Is it someone I know?'

'You've met,' Dumbledore said. 'I shan't say more than that. But I will need to speak to you when you return about the new arrangements.'

'What new arrangements?'

Dumbledore held up a thin, lightly-wrinkled hand. 'Enjoy your afternoon, Severus.' He stepped away quickly, tucking _Warts, Weather and Worries_ back under his arm. Severus watched him go, and swore; then he remembered he was late, and swore again, before turning on his heel and plunging into the queasy feeling of anticipation that Knockturn Alley, and the prospect of seeing Lucius, always gave him.

* * *

Four hours later, he was handing Lucius a small, heavy parcel as they stood in front of Lucius's grand marble fireplace. 'It's not what I had hoped to get you,' he added. 'With any luck, a long and pointed conversation with Quintus Blott should enable me still to obtain it.'

Lucius took the present, hefting its weight in his palm and examining it, before his grey eyes returned to Severus's face. 'So I'm to receive two presents from you? How generous.' His eyes creased in a faint smile.

Severus tried to keep his breathing regular. It was rather difficult when Lucius looked at him that way. 'Not intentionally, but yes, that will be the net result.'

He moved away from Lucius to pour himself another glass of whisky, then took an armchair near the fire, and began to think about Sirius Black again. The traitor's escape meant that there would surely be yet more attention heaped on Potter, who would be presumed to be Black's next target. Potter was another of those four names he had hoped never to hear of again, and with Black so widely discussed, Peter Pettigrew was bound to be mentioned before long, too. The fourth, he assumed, was unlikely to resurface.

He looked up as Lucius approached his chair, also with a full glass of whisky. 'Something troubling you?'

'I was – just thinking about Hogwarts,' Severus said. 'I bumped into Dumbledore earlier, he was saying he's appointed a new Dark Arts teacher. He wouldn't tell me who it was. But apparently it's someone I know.' He hissed softly as Lucius laid a hand on his arm and, with a flicker of his wand, enlarged the armchair to make room for both of them.

'You haven't any idea who it might be?' Lucius said, but Severus could see it was only a pretence of carrying on the conversation. Lucius's eyes were half-closed and his pale hair was gleaming in the firelight. It was clear enough what he wanted.

'None at all,' Severus murmured, and allowed himself a soft moan as Lucius kissed his mouth. Dumbledore had said something about … arrangements … but it really, _really_ didn't matter now. When Lucius slid a hand over his leg, Severus snarled and seized a chunk of his hair, pulling him closer.

'Don't you have something to say to me, Severus?'

Oh, yes. He had almost forgotten. 'Happy birthday, Lucius.'

* * *

_A/N: Well, it's been a while since I uploaded anything new! Excited to be back, and reviews are of course very welcome. Image credit for this story to arbyreed on Flickr._ –SS–


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Normally, and contrary to most of the other Hogwarts staff, Severus found the summer holidays something of a chore. Being publicly on the side of the Light, even with the Dark Lord gone, meant he was now constantly in demand as a potions expert. He had to attend a string of meetings at the Ministry, he had to write papers on topics that held little or no interest, and Dumbledore was irritatingly determined to make sure he could not sit alone in his tiny London flat and read away his time off. By early August this year, he'd already dined with the Headmaster twice in the Leaky Cauldron, and turned down another four invitations.

This time, however, being in London for the summer had yielded something of a reward, when he had encountered Lucius Malfoy in Goblin's Passage, a narrow walkway that connected Knockturn Alley to the backstreets where his flat was located. He did not bother to react. Lucius had ignored him for more than ten years – as former allies and Death Eaters, it was not safe for them to be seen conversing in public – but this time, perhaps because there was barely room for the two of them to pass without colliding, Lucius had slowed and addressed him.

He had looked no different: still immaculate, still grey-eyed, and still dangerously unreadable. Out of curiosity, Severus had gone with him for a drink, and only after an hour of polite conversation had Lucius dropped even a hint of what he was after. Severus had been single for six years and completely celibate for two; he took very little persuading. He had gone willingly back to the apartment Lucius kept in London, and had been summoned every few days after that to repeat the pleasure.

It was a straightforwardly sexual relationship, of course – no emotions, no expectations. That Lucius was choosing to spend this birthday with Severus was unremarkable: the glittering parties the Malfoys had given three times a year (once for Lucius, once for Narcissa, and once at Christmas) had ceased completely after the Dark Lord had fallen. A quiet drink and good company were things, at least, that Lucius could still enjoy, and Severus enjoyed enjoying them with him.

This year, then, to have to leave London at the end of the summer was a bit of a wrench. He would be able to Apparate down at weekends sometimes, if the students weren't due to go to Hogsmeade, but he and Lucius would not be able to enjoy the same casual system of owls and visits that they had established when they were only a few streets apart. Severus anticipated a term of long evenings, trying to resist the urge to unbutton his trousers and drift off to thoughts of Lucius, forcing his mind back to his marking. Nor had he yet found a research project to occupy his free time; he needed to hurry, otherwise Dumbledore would surely think of something for him and remove the element of choice.

* * *

When Severus arrived at the gates, his trunk floating reluctantly behind him, he could see the Dementors were already at Hogwarts. A black shape was circling the Astronomy Tower slowly, and several others drifted in and out of the Forbidden Forest. When they turned sharply and began to fly towards him, Severus felt his body begin to drain of heat, and swore, taking out his wand. '_Expecto patronum_.' His Patronus, a lean panther, leapt from the end of his wand and raced forwards, before stopping with its hackles raised, challenging the Dementors to approach any further.

'Full marks,' a voice said behind him. Severus spun, and blanched to see the bearer of that fourth name, the name he had thought to hear least of all: Remus Lupin.

'You!' he gasped, gripping his wand in his pocket.

'Me,' Lupin returned calmly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you.' He looked over Severus's shoulder at the Dementors retreating into the Forest. 'Unpleasant, aren't they?'

'Indeed,' Severus said. 'Let us hope they at least do the job they're employed to do.'

'Keeping out Sirius Black, you mean?' Lupin said. He spoke the name without any visible sign of emotion. Indeed, the shy Lupin whom Severus remembered from his schooldays seemed to have entirely disappeared. The man who stood before him was tall, straight, and utterly self-possessed. Only his pallor and shadowed eyes gave any clue of the sickness that lay within.

'Exactly,' Severus said. 'I wish I'd been able to employ a Dementor for that purpose twenty years ago.' He turned and began to walk away, then changed his mind and addressed Lupin again. 'Why the hell are you here?'

'Oh, you know,' Lupin said, smiling slightly. 'Nostalgia.' He looked away and gazed out over the lake, as if lost in happy memories.

Severus didn't believe him, but nor did he want to give any more evidence of his own curiosity. He swore under his breath and strode away towards the castle, leaving the werewolf to his own thoughts.

* * *

'_What_?' he shouted barely ten minutes later in Dumbledore's office. 'You can't be serious!'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Actually, I'm rather congratulating myself on this one. Remus's knowledge of his subject is first-class. A vast improvement on Gilderoy Lockhart. And the safety issues, I'm convinced, can be resolved with a little cooperation from you.' He tapped the cover of _Warts, Weather and Worries_, which was now lying shinily on his desk, a red cloth bookmark inserted between its pages. Suddenly Severus knew what arrangements Dumbledore was going to request.

'Revised edition,' he said wearily.

'Indeed,' Dumbledore said. 'Long overdue, of course, but it does mean Grammaticus Gilchrost has been able to include perhaps his most important formula by far: the Wolfsbane Potion.' He opened the book at the red marker and removed it, before passing the book to Severus. 'Do you know it?'

Severus nodded slightly, his eyes moving over the page. 'I had a quick look at it when the discovery was first made.' He frowned down at the list of ingredients. 'He's tried to improve the longevity by adding woody nightshade. It already has poppyseed in it, it'll congeal in the stomach. Amateur.'

'You think you can do better, then?' Dumbledore said.

Severus looked at him. 'I have the feeling,' he said, 'you're about to give me the opportunity to try.' He looked back at the formula. 'You realise this potion takes a fortnight to make, and that's without any experimentation at all. If you want me to improve it, I will barely have any free time left.' He closed the book, and tried to pass it back over the desk.

'Indeed,' Dumbledore said, gesturing for Severus to keep the new book. 'I understand this is a big demand to place on you, Severus. But I have struggled to find a better-qualified teacher for the post, as you know, and considering recent events … I think it best to enable Remus to enjoy the protection Hogwarts can offer. Sirius killed Peter Pettigrew, and James too, though indirectly – and now he is at large again. Remus may be feeling rather vulnerable just at this moment. You must not let your personal feelings get the better of you. You _must_ help, and you must keep it very secret, or students' lives will be in danger every month.'

Severus sighed. His free time – the weekends he had hoped to spend in London … he would surely not be allowed to invite Lucius to dine at Hogwarts with all the suspicion still hanging over him. If he had to make this potion every month, and spend painstaking hours trying out variations on its formula, he would not be able to leave his cauldron unattended even overnight, let alone for a whole weekend.

But he knew he did not have any choice, even if it weren't Dumbledore asking. If Lupin himself had asked him, he would probably still have agreed to make the potion: he had read extensively about life as a werewolf over the years, and had concluded that it sounded about as bad as some of the Dark Lord's favourite tortures. He knew a moral obligation when he saw one.

'All right,' he said finally. 'Tell Lupin I'll make his damn potion, though I can assure you I won't waste my efforts trying to make it taste any better.'

Dumbledore spread his hands. 'A perfect Slytherin response, Severus. Full marks.'

Severus swore again.

* * *

_A/N: Having had a squint at the PoA timeline on a helpful Harry Potter wiki, I've realised some of the events are likely to be somewhat AU here, especially the timings of full moons. Please be lenient … Reviews appreciated, even if it's just a note to say you're reading. –SS–_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for the views/follows I've had so far! A note on the AU/canon status of this story: I've just replaced the previous chapter with a version which doesn't mention Lucius's connection to the Chamber of Secrets debacle – partly for logistical reasons (which will become clear later), partly for plausibility reasons. In this universe, Lucius hasn't done anything so completely horrendous and stupid. –SS–_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

It was hell. That is, it was hell to begin with. To Severus it was as if Lupin had been resurrected from the dead, and he was everywhere: in the corridors, in the library, at mealtimes. They barely spoke – Lupin said hello when they passed each other and Severus gave him a curt nod in return – but when Severus was alone in the evenings he found memories crowding into his consciousness. Images came to the surface of a pale, drawn face hovering in the background while he desperately dodged and blocked hexes from Sirius Black and James Potter. He remembered his increasing suspicions about the adolescent Lupin's monthly disappearances, he remembered spotting Lupin walking with Madam Pomfrey from a high window, he remembered Sirius's smirk as he told him about the knot that would stop the Whomping Willow attacking him. He remembered drawing his wand as he entered the tunnel, his head tingling with the thought of the discovery he was about to make.

Most of all, though, he remembered the huge, angular form at the end of the passageway – its gleaming, bestial eyes – its low growl as it caught sight of him – his triumph melting into terror – and James Potter catching up with him, yelling for him to run – the two them bursting out of the tunnel, sprinting far across the grass and then standing, out of range of the Whomping Willow, bent over and breathing hard – before Severus had strode away without saying a word and gone straight to Dumbledore's office. A couple of days after that, sworn to secrecy and meeting the tired eyes of Remus Lupin in human form once again, he'd realised that Lupin hadn't been in on the plot, he hadn't wanted to endanger Severus's life. But naturally he hated him, almost as much as he hated Black and Potter.

For the first week, that night invaded Severus's mind above all else. His dreams were disturbed by four-legged creatures slinking in and out of shadows, creatures that pinned him down and seemed to tickle him with Lucius's long hair, creatures that laughed with Voldemort's laugh and whispered _Crucio_ in his ear, creatures that burrowed into his trousers and began to lick his cock. He woke up exhausted and sweating. When Flitwick asked him at dinner if he was all right, he snarled a reply, and when he saw Lupin turn curiously in his direction, he rose from the table altogether and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Gradually he got used to it, however. Once his sleep improved and he no longer tensed at the sight of his former classmate, he was able to reason with himself a little. Gallons, _oceans_ of water had flowed under the bridge in the many years since he had last seen Lupin. He himself had become a Death Eater and committed some particularly revolting crimes. Thanks to Voldemort, Lupin had lost all his friends, his life had been ruined, and he was only able to re-emerge now thanks to the invention of the Wolfsbane. But he did not seem at all interested in talking about the past. He gave no hint that he bore a grudge towards Severus; in fact, he was unfailingly cheerful in his greetings, if slightly tentative. To Severus's knowledge he never brought up either Potter, Pettigrew or even Black again, and when the conversation at the staff table turned to the escaped convict, he listened intently, but remained silent.

Whether Lupin was more talkative in the staff room over a Gillywater, whether he ever voiced fears of being murdered by Black in his bed, Severus did not have the chance to find out. The Wolfsbane potion took up all his time – not only the making of it, which required stewing and re-stewing and a form of magical lamination which was very new and rather difficult, but the refinements Severus soon discovered were sorely needed. The author of _Warts, Weather and Worries_ (and werewolves, he added bitterly to himself) had clearly been so eager to get the formula published that he had done a rather shoddy job of finding something that was reliably effective. More than once Severus, an expert Potions master, missed the split second of opportunity he had to alter the temperature, or to add the powdered ramshorn, and had to throw the whole thing out and start again.

His first improvement, then, was to find ways of giving the brewer more time to get things right during the brewing. He ordered in some crates of rosehips, and set about distilling, trying to create a solvent that would slow the progress of the potion at crucial moments. It was tedious work, distillation, but he needed so many different types and concentrations that they had to be made from scratch. Some nights the dungeons echoed with his oaths as he thought of all the other things he would rather be doing. But at least it was a real project, a difficult one, involving long and complicated analysis, which he liked. Once he solved the practicalities of brewing the potion, he wanted to think about redesigning it from scratch, one of his favourite types of research. The base, he thought, was the key: glacial water was easy to buy, and fairly cheap, but there was probably something more effective.

In the evenings he spent hours steadily working, moving vials in and out of racks, checking the rows of cauldrons, weighing rosehips for the distiller, knowing he was doing something genuinely useful. Some nights it was almost a wrench to put out the flames under the cauldrons and go to bed.

* * *

Three weeks into term, at about nine in the evening, there was a knock on his classroom door.

Severus was in the middle of adjusting the heat under a row of six cauldrons, and did not even bother to look up, merely using his free hand to arrange some pieces of parchment into a slightly neater pile. 'Enter.'

When he finally tore his eyes away and saw Lupin standing there, he gave a short, humourless laugh. 'I see. The full moon's in two days and you want to check I'm doing what I'm told.'

'What would be the point in that?' Lupin said mildly. 'If you weren't nearly finished, there would be nothing for it – I'd have to find a safe place to go and transform.'

'The Shrieking Shack once more, I suppose.'

'No, I don't think so. It's been quiet too long. There are intelligent people in Hogsmeade – I would be astonished if someone didn't make the connection. I think I would have to go further afield. Dumbledore assures me he has made provision for this, anyway. He has done me an extraordinary good turn.'

'Yes, it is pretty extraordinary of him,' Severus said, checking each of the six cauldrons and making a note on the parchment on the workbench. 'Who was making this potion for you before?'

'I was, actually,' Lupin said, almost apologetically. 'I wasn't too bad at Potions, although I understand you don't think much of this formula. No wonder I found it so difficult.'

'It is difficult,' Severus said. 'It is difficult because it is badly thought out. They've used the wrong base, I think, although it'll take me months to calculate which might be better.'

'Oh dear,' Lupin said. 'I'm sorry I'm causing you so much trouble.' But he didn't sound sorry. In fact, when Severus glanced up to meet his eyes, Lupin looked almost amused.

Severus clenched his jaw with annoyance, and tried to shrug. 'Never mind. If I produce a better version I may make some money out of it.'

'Is that why you agreed to do it?'

Severus looked up at him again. He did not recognise this Lupin at all. Had he ever really met his eyes when they were at school? He felt sure he would have remembered how unusual they were, a pale hazel that was almost golden. He wondered whether they been that colour since birth, or whether the bite from Fenrir Greyback had given them a more wolfish hue.

He tried to think of a way to answer Lupin's question. In the end, he was semi-truthful. 'No. I did it because Dumbledore asked me. You can't expose children to that level of danger.'

He could feel Lupin looking at him, trying to work out what he really thought about a werewolf teaching at Hogwarts. But he was good at this. He bent to look at the fire under one of the cauldrons critically, checked the mixture inside, then put the fire out. As he carried it over to another bench, where his complicated distiller stood, he said, 'What time on Thursday will you need the potion?'

'In the evening, some time before eleven, if that's convenient.' Lupin followed him over and watched as Severus lit another fire under the cauldron and began to fiddle with the spiralling glass tubes. 'You haven't changed, you know. I remember that look of concentration.'

Severus kept his eyes on what he was doing. 'Then you'll also remember that I don't go in much for chatter while I'm concentrating.'

'All right.' He could hear the amusement in Lupin's voice. 'Well, anyway, I only came down to say thank you. I really am very grateful.' Severus watched him from the corner of his eye as he went to the door. 'I'll come down on Thursday for it at eight, shall I?'

'Fine. And Lupin?'

Lupin waited silently.

'If I ever hear again that Boggarts are taking my form in your classes, you will be very sorry indeed.'

He could feel that Lupin was still smiling. 'Sleep well,' Lupin said, before closing the door gently behind him.

As soon as Severus was alone, he went back to the other workbench and retrieved the piece of parchment he'd hidden in amongst the others. It bore Lucius Malfoy's handwriting.

_Severus,_

_Can you come to London this weekend? It has been far too long. A man can only take so much teasing, and I want an opportunity to retaliate._

_L._

Severus rolled his eyes. Clearly Lucius didn't keep very close contact with his only son, or he'd have known there was a visit to Hogsmeade scheduled for this coming weekend, for which Severus was required to be present. It was exasperating: the weekend straight after the full moon was the only one he could afford to take off, and that only with great organisation and planning. If only Dumbledore had bothered to take this into account when he scheduled the Hogsmeade visits.

Quickly he scrawled a reply in the negative at the bottom of the note, and read the whole thing over before folding and sealing it. Lucius's third sentence warmed his blood as none of the cauldron fires on his workbench had done all evening. He toyed with the idea of abandoning work for the evening and sinking into his armchair to give his fantasies free rein. Then, reluctantly, he handed his reply to his solemn owl, watched it soar up to the high window and out into the darkness, and went unhappily back to the distiller, which was just coming to the boil.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for the follows so far! It would be really great if you could drop me a review to let me know what you think. Reviews feed the muse …_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Lupin came down to the dungeons at precisely eight o'clock on Thursday, and Severus made sure this time to have any incriminating pieces of parchment securely locked in his office well in advance. He was ready with his ledger open, waiting to take notes on how Lupin reacted to the new potion.

He had not made many changes at this stage; after all, it was the first time someone was going to drink his version of the Wolfsbane and he did not wish to be over-ambitious. He thought he had sorted out the problem of combining the woody nightshade with the poppyseed, but this was a temporary measure. His hypothesis had been correct: the brewers had based the potion on glacial water, which was understandable, given its calming qualities; but Severus hoped that, with the rosewater, he would be able to achieve the same effect with a different base, perhaps an oil of some kind. For now, though, he had decanted a dose of the smoking potion into a flask, added a single acorn, and watched it begin to glow.

Lupin nodded at the flask when he came in. 'That looks right to me,' he said grimly. 'Smells right, too, or at least, it smells familiarly revolting. But I understand adding any kind of sweetener will disrupt its effect.'

'At the moment, yes,' Severus said. 'As I said, if I can find a different base, then all things become possible.' He removed the acorn with his silver tongs, and poured the potion into a goblet for Lupin to drink. 'I shall need to record how it sits in your stomach, and your physical reactions, if you will allow me.'

'Certainly.' Lupin sat down on a stool opposite Severus and took the goblet from him. 'Now?'

'Now,' Severus said, taking up his ledger. 'You will need to drink it all at once.'

Lupin drained the potion and shuddered; a momentary horror passed through his face, which looked more like the nervous teenager Severus remembered. 'Disgusting,' he said. 'But it feels much smoother than my own efforts. Mine was a little grainy.'

Severus made a note of this. 'Anything else? Any heat in the stomach?'

'Yes.' Lupin's eyes lost focus as he concentrated. 'It's spreading outwards through my body – and here is the cold which follows it. This feels entirely normal. And I don't feel sick yet, which is rather a bonus. Normally I have to force myself to keep it down just long enough for it to take effect.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. He hadn't realised the prospect of Lupin throwing up in his classroom was so real. But he merely said, 'The hot and cold waves are a sign of a poorly-designed potion. Monkshood is an extremely volatile substance and glacial water is too harsh for it. An oil will be better.'

'Splendid,' Lupin said. His eyes were still looked slightly vague. 'Any idea which oil?'

'I have one or two candidates in mind,' Severus said. 'Are you well enough to get to your office?'

'Oh, am I dismissed?' Lupin said. He looked at Severus with those golden eyes, and suddenly Severus got the impression the werewolf's mind was somewhere other than where he had imagined.

He made sure not to return the gaze for too long, and busied himself with listing the effects Lupin had described, with their probable explanations.

He heard Lupin laugh softly. When he next looked up, the werewolf was gone.

* * *

Things fell quickly into a routine, and Severus's life became split into three parts: teaching, Wolfsbane, and thinking about Lucius, mostly in the small hours of the night. They still exchanged regular letters by owl, though Scotland to London was a long trip and he had to force himself to be content with only hearing from Lucius every few days. Nor was Lucius one for writing long letters full of anecdotes and gossip. They were mostly brief notes, demanding that Severus extricate himself from the grasp of Hogwarts for just one evening. By October, Lucius was clearly getting more desperate, and started to suggest that he could meet Severus in Hogsmeade, or even come to Hogwarts to visit Draco, as he had done before. But Severus refused him. It was too risky for them to be seen associating by hundreds of children, many of whom had parents at the Ministry, and there was no way Severus wished Dumbledore to get wind of what he was doing, or no doubt he would be given regular, unwanted advice in the guise of philosophical statements about the human condition.

The second full moon of the term passed much like the first. Lupin came down on time, drank the Wolfsbane without fuss, noted that Severus's version of the potion was slightly less unpleasant than his own, and went away – but not before Severus noticed, once again, Lupin's expression becoming more amused, his manner more playful. This effect was not listed in the book. He noted this in his ledger – _slightly disinhibited immediately after drinking?_ – but said nothing.

Finally, in late October, he found himself able to leave Hogwarts for a weekend. It was just after the full moon, and although he still had not found a better base for the potion and should really be working, Dumbledore fully agreed that he needed some time off and granted him two whole days of leave. He owled Lucius this time with real pleasure.

* * *

When he arrived in Lucius's apartment, in the early morning of Saturday, Lucius greeted him in a silk robe, pale silver, with his blond hair loose down his back. They exchanged no physical greeting, only standing for a few seconds in anticipation, before going to bed.

Some hours later, they rose and bathed, before taking a late lunch in the autumn sunlight which slanted into Lucius's large sitting room. 'So, how are the Dementors?' Lucius said, his dressing gown loosely around him, peeling an apple with a thin silver knife. 'Draco said the Potter boy was unusually affected by them.'

Severus smiled slightly. 'Well, they're a constant joy and delight. But no sign of Sirius Black yet. In fact, I hear there have been no sightings at all.'

'None whatsoever,' Lucius said. He hesitated, then said, 'I find this whole thing very strange. I had no idea he was one of us until he was captured.'

'Nor did I,' Severus said. 'But Dumbledore is pretty certain. Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper, and I doubt very much he would have been very susceptible to torture. He must have given up the secret by choice.'

'Oh? I thought he was an arrogant weakling.'

'I thought so too, until the massacre in the streets. Now I think he had more backbone than I imagined. Who knows what his loyalties might have been.'

'Indeed,' Lucius said.

'And the Dark Lord has had others in the past we knew nothing about. Sirius did not have the Mark, that much we know. It's a shame – if he had, I might have liked him a little more. He was certainly an interesting physical specimen.'

Lucius laughed and traced a finger gently over Severus's wrist, but withdrew it when Severus made a low noise of pleasure in his throat. 'And what about Black's little lapdog, how is he handling the Defence post?'

'Lupin?' Severus tried to suppress his raging lust enough to formulate an answer. 'Well, I haven't seen him teach, but Dumbledore seems pleased with him. What does Draco say?'

'Not much, actually. I interpret this to mean he finds him unobjectionable.'

'That is a good word for him,' Severus said dryly. 'He knows his subject, he never brings up the past, he always seems cheerful, he offends no one.'

'He knows he is tainted by association.'

'I suppose. But he seems more –' He stopped as he saw Lucius's expression beginning to change, tightening into a sneer. It was getting to be that time again.

But Lucius was waiting for the answer to the question, even as his fingertips began to move up Severus's wrist and arm. 'More …?'

'I don't know …' He cast about quickly for an adjective, as a warm desire spread through his stomach and down into his stiffening cock. 'Self-assured, or something –' He watched Lucius, letting his eyes fall half-shut, beginning to breathe heavily. Fuck, the man was dazzling. He was so dazzling he seemed to dissolve any interest in thinking, or questioning, or reasoning. 'But I don't particularly care just at this moment, do you?'

Lucius's sneer grew more pronounced. 'You do have a low tolerance for being teased, don't you?' He took a deep breath, then rose from his chair and came to stand over Severus, looking down at him with grey eyes, his hair falling loose over his shoulders. 'On the other hand,' he murmured, taking Severus's chin in his fingers and gently pushing his thumb into his mouth, 'I did promise revenge for the time you've kept me waiting.' He lowered himself to kneel between Severus's legs, and ran his hands lightly up his thighs. 'So I think I'll take my time a little.'

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading – please do review if you have time! University term starts again next week, so my time for writing will be a bit more limited, but I'll try and stay focused … –SS–_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Severus had to return to Hogwarts just in time for the Hallowe'en feast, which Dumbledore had been adamant he should not miss. But he walked up from the gates absolutely sated, full to the brim with images of Lucius's eyes and Lucius's clever fingers and Lucius's face as Severus had gripped his cock. It was quite probable that it would be the last they would see of each other until the Christmas holidays, but Severus could almost convince himself that it would be enough.

The grounds looked rather beautiful in the gloom, the high mountains visible only as hulks of black against the darkening sky. He could just see a light glimmering on the lake, and, despite the odd wave of cold as a Dementor passed by overhead, it was fairly mild. In fact, Severus realised with surprise that he felt almost contented as he went up to the castle.

Just as he stepped away from the margins of the Forbidden Forest, a movement made him turn his head sharply. A shape, a creature, had surely been there, before melting away into the shadows of the trees. Had he imagined it? It had been large, with four legs … He drew his wand from his pocket and proceeded more quickly.

After the feast, which was predictably enormous, Dumbledore took Severus to his office for a nightcap. 'Did you enjoy your weekend, Severus?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'And I haven't seen hide nor hair of Remus, which presumably means the potion is working.'

'Mmm,' Severus said, running over in his mind the various problems that still existed in the current formula. Then he said, 'Unfortunate phrase, perhaps.'

'Oh, indeed,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'I'm very grateful to you for devoting so much time to this, Severus. Remus's life has already been transformed by this potion and any improvements you can make will brighten his future immeasurably.'

Severus inclined his head. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

'And, of course, it's wonderful for Harry to be taught by someone who knew his parents so well. I know that Remus is most impressed with him.'

The news of Lupin and Potter's mutual admiration had already reached Severus. He gave a short nod. 'Things appear to be going well for Lupin. I only hope he doesn't think to jeopardise it.'

Dumbledore's face grew still. 'What do you mean?'

'I believe you understand me, Headmaster. Lupin and Black were friends. Black is now free and wishes to kill Potter. Lupin begins to befriend Potter. Lupin has several days every month when no one will look for him. One could imagine – opportunities.'

There was a pause. Then Dumbledore said, 'Severus, where has this come from?'

Severus decided there was no point in lying. 'I saw something – in the grounds as I was coming back up – a dog, a wolf, something like that. It just seemed –'

'You're not suggesting it was Remus, are you?'

'No, I –' He wished he had thought this through before raising it with the Headmaster. Certainly he couldn't say that it was Lucius's words that were niggling him, his description of Lupin as _Black's_ _lapdog_. He hadn't questioned it at the time – he had had other priorities – but he had begun to wonder how close the two had really been before Black had turned. And, therefore, how much influence Black might still have over his former friend.

'Severus,' Dumbledore said, looking at him seriously. 'You know yourself that the Wolfsbane sends Remus to sleep for the whole three days. Weren't you there with him when he drank it?'

'I was,' Severus conceded.

'Well, then. It is impossible for Remus to be out and about in wolf form during this cycle.' Suddenly Dumbledore smiled. 'On the other hand, I know Harry has also been having visions of dogs – in his tea leaves, I mean, according to Sybil. Perhaps you too are seeing _the Grim_.'

Before Severus could protest any further, there was a frantic knocking on the door. 'Albus? Albus, are you there?'

Dumbledore lifted his wand and the door opened. It was McGonagall, who was already in her dressing gown. Severus spent a split second envying her her early nights before she spoke. 'Albus, Gryffindor Tower …. the Fat Lady's disappeared – and her painting's been attacked …'

The Headmaster was out of the door before Severus could even stand up, leaving only the words 'Follow me, Severus' trailing behind him. Severus hated to run, but he did this time, and arrived breathless outside Gryffindor Tower just as Lupin rounded the corner from the other direction.

As Dumbledore questioned Peeves, Severus leant surreptitiously against the wall to get his breath back, and surveyed Lupin. He looked terrible. He wasn't simply leaning against the wall – he was sagging as if he could hardly stand up, the wand in his hand was trembling, and his shirt was not fully buttoned up. Clearly he had not been dressed when he had been called out.

Then Peeves said, clearly audible: 'Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black.'

There were gasps and exclamations of fear from the students. But Severus kept his eyes on Lupin, whose face crumpled in horror; as if overcome by dizziness, he sank into a squat and rested his head in his hands, his shirt falling open almost to his waist.

Dumbledore turned and saw Lupin. Catching Severus's eye, he indicated with a jerk of his head for him to help, so that a member of his staff would not be witnessed in a state of near-collapse by fifty shaken Gryffindors. Severus rolled his eyes, then seized Lupin under the arms and hauled him to his feet. 'Come on,' he muttered.

They made their slow way back to Lupin's office. Luckily, Lupin was able to walk most of it, so Severus did not have to endure the curious stares of those they happened to pass, as he would if he had been supporting or levitating his colleague. Word spread that all the students were to assemble in the Great Hall, and crowds of children flowed past them in the opposite direction.

Lupin was able to speak faintly as they walked. 'He won't still be here. There's no point in checking. But I'm sorry I'm not able to help with sweeping the grounds, I just feel' – he swayed as Severus swept him round a corner – 'rather unwell. You'll forgive me.'

'Is this normal after the full moon?'

'Unfortunately, yes,' Lupin said with a wan smile. 'I wasn't due to return to teaching until tomorrow, you see. A good night's sleep will set me right.'

'As long as Black doesn't manage to find you asleep and weakened during the night,' Severus said. 'I'm assuming you are also a possible target, not just Potter?'

'I'm sure I shall be perfectly safe,' Lupin said. 'I'm confident I know one or two more protective wards than Sirius. He never did much reading.'

There was a note of scorn in his voice, and Severus sensed, with some recognition, Lupin's uncomfortable role as the scholar amongst the energetic fighters he had befriended. Lucius Malfoy had been similarly erratic in his studies, similarly eager to get on a broom rather than pick up a book.

The thought of Lucius reminded him again of the _lapdog_ comment. It probably didn't mean – Black and Lupin – but after all, what if it did? Lucius had a whole mental encyclopaedia of embarrassing secrets about all sorts of people, he'd proven it before. And while Black had been conspicuously, extravagantly heterosexual at school, it didn't mean he hadn't privately had somewhat broader tastes. And Severus didn't remember ever seeing Lupin with a girl, except Lily. What if –

Suddenly he realised they were reaching Lupin's rooms, and jerked his thoughts back to the present. 'You don't require any further assistance, do you?' he asked. He hoped to Merlin no help of a more intimate nature would be requested.

'No, Severus, thank you,' Lupin said, giving him a weak smile. 'I'll be fine tomorrow, you'll see.' He pressed his palm against the door, and it swung open to admit him, before closing again gravely.

Severus flicked an eyebrow in irritation, then turned and strode back towards the Great Hall. He had no idea what to think. His mind turned again to the dark creature he had spotted outside the Forest. He hadn't got a good enough look at it to see what it was. True enough, it had looked somewhat more like the Grim than a transformed werewolf – and he should know, with that memory of Lupin imprinted on his brain. But assuming he wasn't seeing an omen of his own violent death, this went no further to explaining what the creature was.

Later, back in the Great Hall and having spent the best part of two hours searching the castle, he attempted to speak to Dumbledore again, but the Headmaster was impenetrable. He did not believe, he said, that a single person inside the castle would try to help Black enter it, and that was the end of the discussion.

'Headmaster -'

'No, Severus. I will not engage with you on this subject. You must learn to trust Remus – as I have learned to trust you. Now go to bed. Get some sleep.'

As Severus picked his way out of the hall between the sleeping students, his thoughts turbulent with suspicion and irritation, he had a sudden image of himself in battle with Sirius Black, throwing hex after hex and reducing the escaped convict to a quivering mess on the ground, ready for the Dementors' Kiss. It was a beautifully satisfying thought – and one he would most certainly be keeping to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus lunged across the room, weighed down by the awful blackness, and woke up.

He was in bed and there was _something there_ – fuck – if only he could – oh god – he sucked the breath into his body – no, nothing was there – it was clutching at his chest – his heart was thumping violently – he couldn't hear anything but – he lay there – he was unable to move …

He listened. There was the drip of water somewhere far off, and he focused all his attention on it. Gradually he came back to himself. He found his body again, and turned his head. The pale hands of his clock gleamed faintly on the bedside table: just after three. He was lying in a sweaty, tight tangle of nightshirt and bedsheets; slowly he rolled over and felt the pressure release around him.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' he muttered, more for the certainty of hearing his own voice than anything. The Muggle oaths he'd been familiar with in former times still found their way into his vocabulary. Not that he'd heard anyone use them in years. He thought about this for a moment. Six years, it would be.

Had he been dreaming? He couldn't remember any details – just something terrible, the kind of black unhinging terror he associated with being in Voldemort's service. Because of Sirius Black, of course – the man had been _in the castle_ – in and out again with only one witness. It was what they had theorised he would do, and he had done it. Or _not_ done it, presumably, since no one had been harmed. So he would come back.

Severus had a sudden sense of the massive stone castle all around him, keeping him there. No one, not even Dumbledore or Lupin, had mentioned it, but it seemed very plausible that he himself was on Black's list of targets. For years after Voldemort's fall he had spent many wakeful nights listening for possible assassins, he had imagined ranks of secret Death Eaters who had escaped justice and were eager to take revenge on him for his spying. None had come – but now Black was on the loose, apparently still a faithful disciple and determined to murder Potter. _He's at Hogwarts_. Was he being utterly stupid, staying here, in close proximity to Potter and Lupin, a sitting duck if Black managed to get back in? … what if Black and Lupin decided to work together to eliminate him? … what if they knew he had inadvertently helped to murder the Potters? … should he go into hiding until Black could be recaptured? … and what if –

'_Shut up_,' he told himself suddenly, and got out of bed. He lit the lamps, pulled a thick robe from the hook on the bathroom door, took a book at random from his shelves, and sat down. No point lying there getting into a paranoid stew. At least he was well-practised in sitting out a long fearful night. He opened the book, _A History of European Poisons_, and began to read.

* * *

He did not go to breakfast that morning. His two morning classes were rather sleepy, the students also having spent a broken night in the Great Hall. They didn't notice their teacher's own distractions, which was fortunate. All morning Severus's head was a strange mixture of Sirius Black, and the swirls and colours of the lurid history of poison-making, and the brown sludgy fog of his insomnia – and, more strangely, occasional images from last night of Lupin crouching against the wall, his shirt open, visibly shaking. At least while he was teaching Severus didn't have to address a single personal word to anyone. In a low voice he listed the properties of ingredients to fifth-years, explained stirring techniques to first-years, and gave short instructions for homework. The rest of the time he sat at his desk or wandered up and down between the worktables, looking at cauldrons, not faces.

At lunchtime he went straight back to his rooms, requesting a simple meal to be sent up to him. As he ate his soup, bread and cheese in his rooms, watching the dull brightness of the sun creep across the sky, something _popped_ behind him and he turned to see, in the fireplace, a folded note spring out of a small green flame, and fall to the ground. He went and picked it up: Dumbledore's writing.

_Severus – are you well? Everyone is rather shaken up, as I imagine you might be. I am calling a staff meeting at half past five to discuss last night's events. Please do let me know if you will be able to join us. A._

'For Christ's sake,' he said. He had no desire to go to a staff meeting. He had no desire to speak to anyone, about anything, least of all Sirius Black. All he wanted was to sit in peace and safety like this. He wanted to read. He wanted to _sleep_.

Of course, however, he took a quill and wrote a terse reply: _All well, just busy. Will come to staff meeting. SS_ – before throwing it into the fireplace with a pinch of Floo powder.

He picked up a piece of bread, and tore hard at it with his teeth. Things had felt like this when Potter had first started at Hogwarts, he remembered. Bad nights, and an intense urge to lock himself into his rooms with his memories rather than seek any human contact. And things had never entirely gone back to normal – he could still be thrown off-balance for a couple of days if the light caught Potter's eyes in a particular way and he suddenly caught a glimpse of Lily in amongst all James's facial features.

But Potter avoided him like the plague, wasn't a colleague, wasn't a potential assassin. This Lupin and Black thing was worse, much worse. School had been – well, perhaps not as bad as his years under Voldemort, but pretty horrendous nonetheless – and Lupin knew so much about that time, had watched Severus being repeatedly humiliated outside of lessons even as he had proven himself again and again the cleverest in their year. Sometimes he felt a bitter pride about the whole thing – he had _done_ things, he had survived – but more usually, there was just pain and anger. Not that Lupin was doing anything in particular to provoke him; in fact, he had to admit, Lupin was actually making it easier than it might have been, with his mildness and cheerfulness. But he was still – _there_.

He remembered sitting, aged fifteen, in Dumbledore's office, silent and enraged, while the Headmaster spoke quietly. '_Let me tell you a little about what Remus's life is like, Severus. I wonder if it will help you to understand …_'

* * *

When teaching finally ended that day, Severus took his sore, foggy mind out into the grounds for some fresh air. Dusk was falling. He went slowly along the edge of the lake, his hand gripping his wand in his pocket, the Dementors at the edge of his vision as they patrolled the school boundaries.

If it weren't for this wretched staff meeting he could quite happily just keep walking, in the growing darkness, right out into the hills, until he was tired enough to come back and sleep. It had been some time since his last night-time walk. But the presence of the Dementors put him off – he certainly didn't want his peace spoilt by having to produce a Patronus charm, which was tiring enough against one Dementor and completely exhausting against several. And it would be better, much better, to simply go to bed and sleep. Not to take anything: no narcotics, no alcohol. Those days were over. Just to sleep.

A bell high up in the clock tower sounded the quarter-hour, and he sighed, his eyes on the black water of the lake. How was he, so solitary by nature, still here after twelve years, surrounded by people, being summoned by bells? Why hadn't he found somewhere else to hide, some other profession to bury himself in? He could have done research – _proper_ research. Not this endless fiddly trial and error for the sake of a fucking werewolf.

For a moment the urge gripped him, to _get out_, to be anywhere but here. Then he turned away from the lake, and began to walk back up to the castle.

* * *

At twenty-nine minutes past five, Severus slid into the back of the staff room and stationed himself in his customary corner by the grandfather clock, arms folded. Dumbledore caught his eye from the other end of the room and gave him a warm smile. Severus nodded in return, then surveyed the room.

Everyone was there: Flitwick by the fire, chatting cheerfully to Binns and Vector; Hagrid talking loudly to, or perhaps _at_, Pomona Sprout; Charity Burbage and Sybil Trelawney making what was obviously polite, reluctant conversation; Hooch watching them with barely-concealed amusement; Filch standing on his own near the front, looking determined; and over by the heavily curtained windows, Lupin sitting on a sofa and nodding seriously in response to whatever McGonagall was telling him. He looked very pale, and very unhappy.

'All right, good evening everyone, let's make a start,' Dumbledore called, and the room fell silent. 'Thank you very much for all your help last night. For those of you who are not up to date, we have located the Fat Lady, and she is recovering her spirits gradually. Her bravery in refusing to admit Sirius Black to the Gryffindor common room is to be commended. Sir Cadogan has generously agreed to replace her as doorman for the time being.' He smiled. 'Minerva is going to try and keep him from being too enthusiastic.

'With regards to Sirius Black, I'm afraid we don't have much to tell you. We do not understand how he got past the Dementors, or how he got to the Gryffindor common room without being seen, and we still don't know exactly who or what he is looking for.'

'He wants Harry!' said Hagrid loudly, and everyone looked at him. 'Everyone knows tha', it's all they talk about down in Hogsmeade.'

Everyone's faces turned back to Dumbledore – except Lupin, Severus noticed, who kept looking steadily at the floor.

'We don't know that for certain,' Dumbledore said. 'And I would ask you all to avoid speculation. I believe we have managed, so far, to prevent Harry finding out that Black was his godfather and played a significant role in his parents' death. I do not want this information to circulate any more than it needs to. Harry already knows he is thought to be Black's target – he doesn't know why, but his peace of mind is already likely to be disturbed.'

'Headmaster?' Flitwick said hesitantly. 'Is it possible that Black might have – other targets? I say this out of concern, but, well, Remus' – he turned towards Lupin – 'I wouldn't want anything to happen to you …'

Lupin shook his head slowly, but which part of Flitwick's question he was responding to was unclear. He looked scarcely any better than last night. Clearly the good night's sleep he had mentioned had not been forthcoming.

'It's all right, Filius,' Dumbledore said. 'Naturally Remus and I have already discussed this. I have offered him a temporary hideout until Black is caught, but he has expressed a wish to remain here, for which I am of course very grateful.'

As the discussion continued, a fresh streak of suspicion crept into Severus's mind – Lupin _wanted_ to stay in the very building Black was trying to break into? – _why?_ – But he resolved to think more on it another time, he was too tired right now to see things clearly.

Then a question from Sprout brought his attention back to the present. 'Albus, do we know of any increase in Death Eater activity anywhere else? Does Black have accomplices anywhere, do we know who they might be?'

'An excellent question, Pomona,' Dumbledore said, 'but perhaps one best directed at Severus' – he looked at Severus, as did a dozen slightly apprehensive faces – 'who I'm sure is much better informed than I am. Have you heard anything from any of your contacts, Severus?'

There was a pause. For a moment Severus stood there in his black robes, a former Death Eater, participant in innumerable horrific crimes. Then he said calmly, 'I haven't been in touch with any of the Dark Lord's followers for some time now. I can renew the contacts if you would like me to.'

'I'm not inclined to encourage it,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'If you do hear anything, let me know.'

Severus nodded.

As his colleagues' attention shifted away from him, to Hooch who was asking a question about keeping the Quidditch pitch safe, he stood very still, staring down at his folded arms, considering the lie he had just told. Dumbledore had been testing him, he knew, to see if Severus really was better-informed than him, to see if Severus was keeping back information. He had passed the test, but only through dishonesty.

Suddenly he realised Lupin was watching him from the other side of the room. He gave him a stern stare back, expecting Lupin to look away, but he didn't: his expression was no longer miserable: it was thoughtful, a little curious – and something else too, something like amusement. For a long moment they held each other's look, black eyes meeting brown. Finally Severus raised an eyebrow, and Lupin's eyes crinkled into a smile, and he looked away. Then Severus was no longer sure what game they had just played, let alone whether he had won.

'Well, I think that's everything for now,' Dumbledore said. 'On a more cheerful note, is I have decided to hold a little drinks party before our Yule Feast, to which all our governors will be invited' – Severus's stomach tightened – Lucius, _here_ at dinner with him? – 'and the Minister for Magic too, although I've no doubt he will be far too busy to attend. Each of you can bring a guest if you wish, and once the Feast is over we can continue to celebrate. That's all – now, time for dinner!'

Before Severus could escape, to dine alone and to write to Lucius about the Yule Feast, Dumbledore made straight for him, and took his arm. 'I'm sure you don't want to, Severus, but I would like you to join us for dinner. None of us should become isolated, it doesn't do any good …'

Sensing a lost battle, Severus let himself be escorted, walking to the Great Hall by Dumbledore's side. While the Headmaster chatted away, however, he treated himself to a few delicious moments of fantasy, imagining having Lucius with him in his rooms after the Feast, both of them naked, sprawled across his bed, celebrating the end of term together in the best possible way.


	7. Chapter 7

'_NOT_ the asphodel root, you little cretin,' Severus was to be found snarling the next week as his sixth-year class attempted to make the most basic of antidotes. He seized the piece of root – worth, he estimated, about eleven Galleons – from the arm of the now quaking boy, and stormed with it back to the stores. Then he returned to the front, and addressed the whole class. 'Why _exactly_, can someone tell me, should one not use asphodel in an antidote to a poison?'

A couple of Ravenclaws raised their hands on the other side of the room, but none of the Hufflepuffs moved. 'Well?' Severus demanded of the girl in the far corner.

'It's the wrong class?' she said tentatively.

'Meaning?'

'Ingredients in an antidote needs to be from the Neutral or Light classes. But asphodel is Dark, isn't it?'

'Precisely,' he said coldly, not bothering to award any points for such a basic fact. 'Asphodel in an antidote would almost certainly turn it into a poison. If you haven't got the three classes straight, I wonder if there's any point whatsoever in continuing with this. However …'

He spread his hands to indicate that they should, in fact, continue, and sat down heavily at his desk. He still wasn't sleeping well. This was a bad bout: more nightmares, more long reading sessions, more hours waiting for the dawn. The number of books he was getting through had increased sharply, but he was so tired he could hardly remember anything he had read.

And he had heard nothing from Lucius since his visit, not even to ask more about the Sirius Black incident, which he had naturally assumed would be of interest, or to say if he would be attending the Yule Feast. Not that this necessarily meant much – their correspondence was always casual and to the point – but my god, a note from Lucius would surely do wonders for his mood.

And he needed to sleep. Perhaps if he brewed something – just to get him over this bout of insomnia –

No. Not an acceptable line of thought. He got up abruptly and went over to the girl who had answered his questions, Elizabeth Quirke. 'Tell me about the composition of this potion,' he ordered.

Elizabeth looked terrified to be addressed directly by him, but managed to speak at a normal volume. 'Well … it's got four layers … the base is coconut milk …'

Suddenly Severus was paying real attention. 'Coconut milk?'

'Yes …' The girl swallowed, as if convinced he was about to enumerate to her all the things that were wrong with using coconut milk in potion-making. 'I thought it sounded a bit stupid at first, but it seems to help with the consistency, and, well, it's absorbent, which works in an antidote …'

'Where did you get it?' Coconut milk was certainly not something Severus had ever kept in his store room; nor was it mentioned anywhere in his curriculum.

'I got my dad to send me some … I just wanted to try it …' She was clearly still convinced she was in trouble.

Severus picked up her ladle, lifted a small amount of liquid from her cauldron, and gave it an experimental sniff. It had a very gentle smell, and looked creamy and extremely smooth. 'Have you ever used coconut _oil_ as a base?' he said.

'No – would that be better?'

'Possibly,' he whispered, thinking hard. 'Yes, possibly …' He awarded her ten points for innovation – Lupin, he thought sardonically, would have given thirty – and tried to ignore her astonished, delighted expression as he strode away.

When the class was over, he scoured his bookshelves and eventually located a book containing the basic properties of coconut derivations. He studied the charts for a moment, comparing coconut oil to coconut milk. It had never even occurred to him to try something like this. Most of the traditional bases for European potions were types of water or oil that could be extracted from more common ingredients, usually plants found in Britain or Europe, but a small body of research existed around more tropical ingredients, and those from the southern hemisphere. A potionmaker he had met through the Ministry, Philomena Walker, had brought back a wealth of samples from Australia and had been exploring their uses ever since.

He seized a spare piece of parchment, a quill and some ink, and went up to the Great Hall for lunch. Between bites, he started to make a complicated set of calculations about whether coconut milk, or coconut oil, might work as a base for the Wolfsbane. Lupin, who was sitting next to him, watched Severus's quill move across the page for several minutes before Severus coughed in irritation, prompting Lupin to say, 'Coconut milk? Really?'

'I don't know yet,' Severus muttered.

'But your general instinct?'

Severus clenched his teeth, holding back the remark that his general instinct would work far better if Lupin would leave it alone. 'My general instinct,' he said eventually, 'is that it will work. Coconut oil might be better for consistency than the milk. I shall need to try both. Don't hold your breath for a prototype just yet.'

'Might I come down and ask you more about it this evening?' Lupin said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'As I said, there is little I can tell you at this stage. There would be little point. We can discuss it further when I have actual information.' He rolled up his piece of parchment loosely, and got up and left the Hall.

He was only a few yards down the corridor, his head already busy with calculations again, when he heard Lupin's voice:

'Severus?'

He turned around to see Lupin coming towards him. 'What is it now?'

Lupin looked quite earnest, perhaps even a little nervous. 'I was just wondering if – maybe I could come down anyway, and see what you're doing with the Wolfsbane? I'd like to know more about how you go about improving a potion, it's not really something I've ever had experience with, and since – well, given it's a potion I will need for the rest of my life, I feel I should understand the process better. But I do realise your time is short – if it's too much hassle to explain it then I understand.'

'All right,' Severus said wearily. He couldn't be bothered to argue, and anyway there wasn't much he could object to in Lupin's little speech. 'Eight o'clock tonight. But I take no responsibility for your being able to understand the intricacies, it's fairly advanced.'

Lupin smiled. 'I'll try to at least Exceed your Expectations. See you later.' He went back down the corridor and through the door, leaving Severus standing there, an odd mix of puzzlement and exasperation simmering in his mind.

* * *

_A/N: A shorter chapter this time, but a much longer one is to follow ... –SS–_


	8. Chapter 8

The afternoon passed slowly. Severus found himself somewhat abstracted in mind, thinking alternately about the possibilities of coconut ingredients and what he planned to show Lupin. At dinner they did not sit together, but somehow it was clear they were both aware of the evening's appointment. Lupin seemed quiet and thoughtful, and more than once glanced down the table, as if to check that Severus was still there. Severus, as usual, excused himself as soon as he had finished eating, and went back down to the dungeons to set things up for the Wolfsbane.

As he levitated equipment out of cupboards, he couldn't help casting a glance at the small, locked cabinet where he kept his restricted ingredients. Belladonna. Opium poppy. Digitalis. Coca. Hemlock. All in tiny, sealed vials or boxes. All fabulously expensive. All beautifully intoxicating, in the right potions. He just wanted to sleep, after all. If he restricted himself merely to –

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. _No_. _Not necessary_. This would pass, his body would sleep when it was ready. He didn't need that stuff any more.

* * *

When Lupin arrived just after eight, Severus was sitting calmly at his desk, marking essays. He stood up. 'If you sit there,' he said without any further greeting, indicating the nearest worktable, 'we can perhaps go through some of the theory first so what I show you makes a little more sense.'

'That sounds like an excellent idea,' Lupin said, seating himself at the long worktable on which Severus had already placed _Warts, Weathers and Worries_, as well as a sheaf of parchment containing his own workings. Now he went over with a blank piece of parchment and a quill, then sat down across the corner from Lupin.

'You might remember from Slughorn's lessons,' he said, 'that we tend to represent the structure of potions most simply as a diamond shape.'

He sketched a neat rhombus on his parchment and drew three horizontal lines across it.

'The base or foundation of the potion is usually some type of water or oil. Glacial water, in the case of the Wolfsbane. Then the super-foundational layer' – he indicated with his quill the next level up – 'stabilises the base and tends to determine the longevity of the potion. This might consist of just one ingredient, or anything up to five or six. Then the layers from the middle to the apex tend to be more varied – the active ingredient of the potion might be at the top, or somewhere lower down. Monkshood is just below the apex here, and the acorn is at the top, it's that which catalyzes the whole thing. Does that make sense?'

Lupin nodded. 'Yes, that sounds familiar enough.'

'This diagram represents the finished potion, however,' Severus said, 'not the process of brewing it. Things would be very simple if one simply added ingredients from the base up, and there are one or two potions where this is the case. But mostly the process to reach this point is a matter of working out how to bind the ingredients together, and in what order, to make them interact the way you want. And then you can change those interactions in so many ways, as you know, through heating, or stirring, or chopping them up, or changing the quantities or the sequence of the ingredients, and so on.

'So designing a potion, or improving it, involves a sort of negotiation between the finished structure of the potion' – he pointed at his diagram – 'and the logistics of actually brewing it' – he laid a hand on the book containing the Wolfsbane formula – 'which really means negotiating with your ingredients, trying to get the most out of them, or seeing what they will tolerate before they become ineffective.'

He was aware that Lupin was sitting very still, listening to him. He was aware, too, that it felt rather nice to be able to show off his expertise to someone who actually wanted to hear it. This was what mastery meant.

'When it comes to other people's potions,' he went on, 'unless they're willing to share their research with you, you obviously have to work out the structure of the finished potion before you can set about trying to improve it. Sometimes it can be a bit speculative. Some ingredients are obviously bases, but many could go in almost any level of a potion.

'With the Wolfsbane' – he lifted the top sheet of parchment from the pile and passed Lupin his heavily annotated and crossed-out diagram – 'this is how it's structured, or, well, I'm about ninety per cent sure. As I said, it's not designed very well. This lamination technique is too fiddly for a potion that's meant to be brewable at home. Most people wouldn't be able to get this right, or not reliably, anyway. So it needs improvements.'

'I'm very reassured that you think it's so hard,' Lupin said, smiling. 'I was getting frustrated at my lack of skill.'

'How long had you been making it yourself?'

'Just over a year.'

'Then you clearly have a certain competence.' He tried to ignore Lupin's grin at this half-praise. 'Anyway, the theory I've just told you is taught from the sixth year, and students are examined on designing very simple potions at NEWT level. I've argued that improving existing potions should be on the syllabus too, but the Ministry doesn't agree. So as you said, you wouldn't have learned this next part at school.'

'But you did, presumably?' Lupin said. 'I mean, you must have studied a lot of extra-curricular stuff when you were a student.'

Severus stared at him. He couldn't mean –

No, he decided, looking at Lupin's mild face, that wasn't what he meant. In the end he said, 'Yes, I read a lot. Slughorn let me try things out in the evenings sometimes. And …' He inhaled, hesitated, then spoke again. 'Well, as you know, I didn't do an apprenticeship after I left, so … But I had most of the knowledge I needed. I made up for the gaps later on, after the – when I became a teacher.'

There was a pause. Severus kept his eyes down on the parchment so he couldn't see Lupin's expression. He didn't want to know whether it was compassion or contempt.

Eventually he said, 'Anyway, so, improving a potion requires an understanding of its deep structure, how the ingredients bind together. In the case of the Wolfsbane, it seems Gilchrist has been somewhat lazy – he has tried to stretch the longevity to the three days you need by adding woody nightshade, but ignored the fact that this interacts badly with the poppyseed. This is why it makes you sick. And the lamination is designed to protect the monkshood so it can develop its potency more slowly, which means you can brew it all in one cauldron, but actually this makes it very difficult for an amateur.'

'I thought Gilchrist was one of the most respected potions masters in the country,' Lupin said.

'He is.'

'So why –'

'Because the discovery itself probably took a great deal of time. He can register the invention and the lamination technique, make some money, and be credited with improving the lives of werewolves all over the world. To make the potion better, as you can see, is the tedious part. I imagine he preferred to leave it to others. Anyway, I will show you.'

Severus rose from his seat and Lupin followed him over to the next worktable, on which he had arranged eight racks of vials, next to a row of six simmering cauldrons. The big ledger in which he had been recording his work, and Lupin's reactions to the potion, was lying open at the end of the table.

'Here is how it works,' Severus said. 'I've been trying rosewater to slow the development of the potion, so the timing of the lamination isn't so crucial. I've mixed twelve different concentrations and tried each one – each rack here contains each of those twelve concentrations – and then for each rack I've varied it again in terms of the quantity I've added, three different amounts' – he waved at the first three racks – 'and then different temperatures, five at present. After that I'll look at how quickly to add the rosewater, all in one go or gradually, or in several stages. And then these cauldrons are brewing a new batch to the point where I add the rosewater. That'll be the weekend's research.'

Lupin was looking carefully at the ledger, and each of the racks and cauldrons. 'I can't actually tell the difference between any of them,' he said. 'What you're doing must be very subtle.'

'It is. It will make a difference at a single moment of the brewing process, and that's all. But it will already be a big improvement if I can get it right. I have also, on instinct really, moved the poppyseed slightly earlier in the formula, to try and reduce the nauseating effect of the woody nightshade. That made theoretical sense, and it seems to have worked all right. And then, as you know, I'm looking for a different base, which might ultimately mean redesigning the potion from scratch.

'So those are the three different methods.' Severus held up a hand and counted them off on his long, pale fingers. 'One, intensive testing of minute variations in the formula. Two, changing something on a gut instinct and seeing what happens. And three, wholesale redesign. If the last one doesn't work, at least we should end up with an improved, more workable version of the original.'

He returned to his desk and sat down behind it, leaving Lupin at the worktable. He hadn't spoken so much in one evening for a long time, and it was very draining, especially when he was already so tired. Lupin hadn't even been there a whole hour, but already what Severus wanted was for him to say thank you and go away, to leave him in peace.

Lupin looked at him, seeming to notice his change in mood, but did not leave. Instead he said, 'Could I look through your ledger, or is it private?'

'If you must,' Severus said without looking up.

As Lupin pulled a stool up to the worktable and began to turn the large pages, Severus found his half-completed stock order from earlier in the day and continued to fill it in, to send to Hogsmeade in the morning. He added the various kinds of coconut ingredients he wanted – large amounts, hang the expense. He was starting from scratch, after all.

The minutes passed in almost complete silence. Lupin didn't speak even when Severus came over to the worktable again to check the six cauldrons, taking a small spoonful of each and drizzling it out to check the consistency. He could feel Lupin watching what he was doing, but it seemed the werewolf was unusually respectful of quiet, even more so than Dumbledore, who had a tendency to fill gaps in the conversation.

The silence was broken, however, when Lupin, now reading the ledger again, gave a little chuckle.

Before he could stop himself Severus said, 'What is it? Have you found a spelling mistake?'

'No, I'm just amused by your description of me as _slightly disinhibited_,' Lupin replied with a smile.

'Ah.' Severus cursed inwardly: he'd forgotten about that little note when he'd given Lupin permission to read the ledger. But perhaps it was a good opportunity to ask. 'Would you consider that an accurate observation? Your mood seems to change slightly just after you drink it.'

Lupin's smile became wry. 'That seems more or less accurate, yes. Usually I drink it alone, of course, so there hasn't been anyone there to notice.'

He came over and half-sat, half-leaned on the nearest worktable. There were several large holes in the sleeve of his jumper, which Severus pretended not to see. 'This is clearly a very time-consuming project for you, Severus. I'm really very – very grateful you're giving it so much attention. I wanted to ask if you need any help with it. I'm happy to give you what free time I have if it would be of any use.' The ghost of a smile appeared on his face. 'Except at the full moon, obviously.'

Severus considered. 'To be honest, the biggest obstacle is that it can't be tested often enough. You are the only person here who can drink it, and only one dose, once a month – and it absolutely must be right when you do, or the consequences are pretty serious. Normally I'd test a potion on myself as I went along, and if it went slightly wrong it wouldn't matter too much. But that's just the nature of the situation. What progress I can make given those restrictions, I can cover in my own time.'

'Fair enough,' Lupin said. 'Well, the offer's there, my time is yours if you want it. Also –' He hesitated, suddenly seeming a little uncomfortable, then spoke again. 'I wanted to apologise about what I said a while ago, when I said you hadn't changed.'

'Apologise? Why?'

'Well, it was a joke, but I realised afterwards it wasn't in very good taste, given all the reasons for … And I didn't want you to imagine that might really be what I think – because you _have_ changed, a lot, or at least from what I know of you.'

'So have you, I think.' He didn't know what had made him say it.

But Lupin did not seem offended. 'Yes, I think I have,' he agreed. 'We've both had to adapt to – some bad circumstances.'

Severus wasn't sure how to respond. Talking about the past could lead them into dangerous territory. If they discussed their schooldays they would have to recall the bitter hostilities that existed between Severus and Lupin's friends; only a few years later, Severus had passed onto Voldemort the prophecy that had led to James and Lily Potter being murdered – did Lupin even realise to what extent this had been Severus's fault? – and now there was Sirius Black. None of this seemed safe to talk about.

'Well, anyway,' Lupin said, 'I'll leave you in peace. Thank you for the tutelage, you are very good at explaining things. Good night.'

He was halfway to the door before Severus said, 'Lupin?'

The werewolf turned.

There was a pause. What Severus wanted to ask was _why_ – why Lupin was being so friendly, why he was going out of his way to spend time in a dark dungeon with a former Death Eater, why he was making jokes, making personal remarks, offering up his free time. But in the end all he said was, 'What is the date of the next full moon?'

'Oh,' Lupin said. Clearly he had sensed a more serious question. 'The twenty-eighth.'

Severus nodded. 'Good night.'

Lupin looked at him for a moment, then turned and left the dungeon.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this– university term started again, and I ran out of backlogged chapters! Progress will likely be slower now, but I'll try not to lose too much momentum_.


	9. Chapter 9

_*… Walking with his head down, thoughts fierce and busy. Then a figure ahead in the dark passage – christ, Lucius Malfoy. Out on some nefarious nighttime errand, presumably. _

_Trying not to slow his pace. Preparing himself to give the usual curt nod._

'_Good evening, Severus.'_

_He stopped. _

_Lucius in front of him in the lamplight, his face lit a dark gold. A long time since he'd seen him up close. That pale hair curving down over one shoulder. This couldn't be good. He began very slowly to ease his wand out of his sleeve. _

_Then his pleasant voice: 'It has been far too long. How are you?'_

_Trying not to appear disconcerted. 'Oh, you know, mirthful as ever. Savouring every day of my miserable existence.' A classic Slytherin reply. Useful tool to conceal puzzlement or wariness._

_A smile playing on Lucius's lips. _

_Should keep it polite. 'And you?'_

_The smile growing wider. 'Thirsty, actually. Come and have a drink with me ...' *_

Severus sat in the dark, a book on his lap, his eyes staring unfocused in front of him. The castle was silent.

_* … Taking a sip of his Firewhisky. No sitting back in the chair. Remain alert. 'So is there something specific you wanted to talk about?'_

'_To talk about?' Another smile. 'No.' _

_In the brighter golden light of the quiet pub, Lucius's eyes: definitely, unmistakeably grey. Pale grey, like stone. He'd forgotten. Malfoy Junior had blue eyes, after his mother._

_Speaking of which. 'How are Narcissa and Draco?'_

'_Both fine. How are you spending your summer?'_

_Small talk, apparently, the chosen mode. 'Mainly research. The Ministry wanted me to give a lecture. I said I'd write them a paper instead and they could let me off doing the lecture.'_

'_Shame. I'd enjoy watching you speak to an audience.'_

_Raising an eyebrow. 'If the audience had numbered more than six I'd have been astonished.'_

'_Oh, really? No ex-Hogwarts pupils crowding into the front row and casting you longing looks?'_

_Gazing at Lucius steadily. It was becoming easier now. 'Congratulations. You have discovered a highly effective emetic. If any of my pupils ever swallows poison by mistake you can simply use my name and the phrase_ longing look_ in the same sentence and they will vomit up their entire intestines.'_

_Lucius's laugh ... *_

Severus turned his head slightly towards the window. Still dark. Another hour at least until the twilight of dawn began. Still, he had the whole conversation in his memory, he'd spent a while lying awake in Lucius's bed a few months ago, reconstructing it. (Another tool left over from former times.)

_* … 'And how do you find teaching these days?'_

_Giving a faint smile. 'Well, as you can imagine, my natural charisma is a major asset.' _

'_Of course. And how is it working for Dumbledore?'_

_Ah. Deflect, deflect. Start Occluding? Perhaps. Lucius had shown himself a fair Legilimens at one time. In the end he said, 'Dumbledore is … stubbornly determined to see the best in people. Which suits me.'_

'_But which was always his downfall, as the Dark Lord used to say.'_

_Raising an eyebrow. 'I would suggest the Dark Lord's downfall has been somewhat more marked.' _

_Lucius inclining his head. 'I can't disagree. So you're happy teaching Potions?' _

'_Is this really what you want to talk about, my position at Hogwarts? I've been there twelve years.'_

'_I know. I used to imagine you would find a job in London. Become some sort of world-famous expert. I pictured you living in a nice little terrace, books everywhere, travelling all over the world, striding in and out of ministries and academies everywhere with papers under your arm and giving expert advice to the rich and powerful.' A pause. 'And getting married, perhaps.'_

_He could not hold back a short, humourless laugh. 'You never thought I would get married.'_

_Lucius gave a low laugh, then looked at him. Really looked at him ... *_

Severus sat very still, holding the moment in his mind. His whole groin was tingling slightly. Oh yes, that look had been … unequivocal.

_* … Slightly reeling post-Apparition, watching Lucius close the front door of his London flat and lock it with three, four, five different spells. _

'_Are you expecting an intruder?'_

'_Ha. Force of habit.' Lucius throwing his cloak over the back of a chair, then turning to him. The same look. The same hardness in those grey eyes. 'Come here.' _

_No way. Taking orders from Lucius Malfoy, not an option, even now. Returning the stare – this game he could play all night._

_Lucius waiting. His expression creasing with amusement. Then, slowly, coming over. Taking hold of Severus's hands, ignoring his involuntary jolt, drawing them around his waist. 'This is more like what I had in mind.'_

_The broad body, the warm chest – here, fucking _here_, in his arms. His breath grew tight with panic, or, well, he wasn't sure what it was. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Christ almighty, his cock was already hardening. _

_He drew back quickly. 'Might I ask whether your marriage – I mean, is Narcissa – does she –'_

_Lucius interrupted him. 'Narcissa is perfectly happy. We have an arrangement.' He smiled again. 'Haven't you ever wondered why we only had one child? We agreed very early on, to be discreet in pursuing our own interests.' _

'_Ah.' Then, with a faint smile, 'I'm not sure I realised your interests included men.'_

_Lucius's amused exhale. He came close again, lifted a hand, and stroked it, very slowly, down Severus's neck._

'_Fuckkk.' The word escaping his mouth as if the caress had opened a pressure valve._

'_Ah, I see.' Lucius smiled. 'How long has it been?' _

_He took a slow, shaky breath. 'Somewhat too long …' *_

Slowly the rest of the night passed. It was not unlike Occlumency, this concentrated remembering – he had to keep it very even, very vivid, so it filled the whole of his mind. Only then could he successfully keep out unwanted of thoughts. Stray bits of whatever nightmares had woken him up this time. Flashes of irrational jealousy that Lucius might be fucking someone else – which, he had to admit, was probably true – but which they had explicitly agreed not to care about. More theorising about Sirius Black, about Lupin, how Black had got around the Dementors. And an idle but recurring thought that had begun to niggle at him, about whether he might, one day, bring himself to leave Hogwarts and pursue some other career, something more suited to him. Perhaps one day he would indeed stride in and out of wizarding academies and ministries all over the world.

_* … Afterwards, Lucius whispering in his ear: 'I never thought I'd get to make Severus Snape come.'_

_His mind reeling and tumbling with the gorgeous satisfaction and soreness of sex, with Lucius's smell and sweat all over him, with the glorious shock of being wanted._

_But he managed to turn and smirk at Lucius. 'If only you'd used your imagination a little sooner.' *_

* * *

The dawn arrived, and Severus cleared his mind carefully, had a quick wash, and put on his teaching robes to go down to breakfast.

The first thing he saw was an envelope in his place, with Lucius's handwriting on it.

Severus's stomach jolted so hard that he had to stuff the letter into his pocket and sit silently at the staff table for a minute, until he could trust himself to eat anything or speak to anyone. When breakfast ended, he practically sprinted back to his office and tore the envelope open.

_Very much looking forward to the Yule Feast. You should prepare yourself. Trust me, I will fuck you so that you _stay _fucked_._ L._

That line made him moan right there in his office.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for the new reviews, faves, follows – much appreciated! –SS–_


	10. Chapter 10

November passed. Severus still wasn't sleeping properly. Waking at three or four in the morning had become a regularity, and after going through every single one of his encounters with Lucius in minute detail, he had run out of distractions. Too tired now to read, he had taken to simply staring glassily out of the window until it was time to go down for breakfast. And he still had occasional but worrying thoughts about going down to the dungeon, opening his locked cabinet, taking out a phial of crushed opium poppy, and brewing himself something strong and gorgeous, something that would allow him to sleep through a whole Saturday if he needed to, to restore his strength. One night, noticing those thoughts returning again, he actually considered taking every single poison and narcotic out of the cabinet and smashing them in the fireplace, to stop himself being tempted. But he had been strong, for the last six years he had been strong. He would get through – with clenched knuckles, if need be.

Wearily he began to prepare the Wolfsbane for the full moon. Lupin, too, seemed to be looking increasingly unwell. When he saw him at mealtimes his eyes seemed constantly in shadow, and although he occasionally met Severus's eyes, there was no repeat of that long, challenging stare, he just gave him a small smile and looked away. He spent mealtimes talking quietly with McGonagall, Flitwick, or Dumbledore – not uncheerfully, he still smiled and seemed to make the odd joke – but he was clearly subdued, and exhausted. Maybe it wasn't only Severus who was enduring long, wakeful nights.

The night before the twenty-sixth, a Sunday which Severus spent almost entirely underground, his hair damp with steam in the heat of the dungeon, Lupin came down in the early evening, his hair a little ruffled. 'Forgive me being a bit unkempt,' he said, and suddenly gave an almighty yawn. 'I've just got out of bed, I was catching up on sleep a bit.'

'Isn't that what you're about to do for the next three days?' Severus retorted, bending over the worktable to adjust the heat under the cauldron.

He looked up from the flames in time to see Lupin smile. 'It's surprisingly unrestful, changing into a wolf in your sleep,' he said. 'It would be nice if it counted, but it doesn't.'

'Shame. I was almost envying you.' Straightaway he regretted saying it, and poked a glass stirring rod into the Wolfsbane, pretending to examine it intently.

But Lupin didn't make the obvious reproach, or pick up the hint about his insomnia. Instead he said, 'I was wondering something. Do you always call him the Dark Lord?'

Severus looked up sharply. 'What?'

'The staff meeting we had after Sirius broke in. You referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord. I found it – surprising.'

'And do you always refer to him as Sirius?'

Lupin looked slightly taken aback. Then he said, 'Touché. Well, obviously you don't have to answer, I was just curious.'

Severus took a breath in. This, presumably, was what had prompted the staring contest at the staff meeting. Made sense: those Gryffindors were always such sticklers about the proper names for things. Then he said evenly, 'Yes, I do always refer to him as the Dark Lord. Is that a problem?'

'No. I'm sure you have very good reasons.'

'I do.' He said it with something like grim pride: the knowledge that he had stood in front of Voldemort many times, conversed with him, begun to deceive him, all without losing his nerve. (That bit had come later.) Lupin could never know what that was like.

'Sorry,' Lupin said, 'I was just – but I realise I don't –'

'Stop floundering,' Severus said, losing control of his irritation. 'You are overestimating how much I care what you might say to me.' He took a deep breath, keeping his head down, getting a grip on himself. He could sense Lupin waiting. 'It's not actually ready yet, the Wolfsbane. You are a bit earlier than I was expecting. I need another hour or so.'

'Oh, all right. Can I stay and watch, or would you rather I didn't?'

Severus managed not to snarl that Lupin would find a better welcome at the bottom of the Black Lake. Instead he took another breath, exhaled slowly, and spoke with control. 'As long as you let me concentrate.'

Lupin mimed zipping up his mouth, and sat down, smiling.

Severus rolled his eyes and gave the Wolfsbane another stir, another pinch of arrowroot it didn't really need. Then he began to clear up, dismantling the distiller with a few expert twists of the wrist and taking it over to the sink. As he washed each of the glass parts carefully, he tried to sense what Lupin was doing behind him, but all he could hear was the low bubbling of the Wolfsbane. When he took a very quick glance over his shoulder he saw Lupin sitting calmly, watching the simmering cauldron. He was, once again, impressed. Not that he imagined the werewolf had anything like his own capacity for sitting in stillness, in silence. But after all, few did, and Lupin was better at it than most.

'By the way,' he said, returning to the worktable, 'the coconut derivations are arriving tomorrow.'

'Oh, good,' Lupin said. 'I was going to ask you about that. Are these ingredients expensive?'

'Moderately.'

'It's just, if you make a better version but it costs more' – Lupin looked almost apologetic – 'I'm just wondering how far the Ministry will subsidise it. The money they give me isn't really enough as things stand.'

'How much?'

'Five Galleons a month.' Lupin smiled at Severus's look of disgust. 'I know. I haven't really bought any luxuries for the last year.'

Severus shook his head in exasperation. 'Even without the backup ingredients you need for if, or rather _when_, the lamination goes wrong, I'd say it's a fifteen-Galleon potion at least. There must be many people who simply can't afford to make it.'

'Undoubtedly,' Lupin said. 'Until I got this job, things were – well, I have to admit, there were a couple of times I did consider just finding a deserted mountain for the full moon instead of spending the money. But I decided that would be unethical.'

'Well,' Severus said, 'if I succeed in making a better version, I will go with you to the Ministry and plead the case for a greater subsidy.' He checked the Wolfsbane again. It had thickened, slightly ahead of schedule – it was already time to measure out the dose and add the acorn. He would be able to get Lupin out of his office and go straight to bed in the next fifteen minutes, if he so desired.

Lupin said nothing. When Severus glanced at him, he realised Lupin had gone slightly pink. 'What?'

'That's very kind of you, Severus.'

'Once again you misunderstand me,' Severus said, concentrating on filling his half-pint ladle precisely to the brim with the Wolfsbane, and pouring it into a glass goblet. If do I register a better version, I won't make a single Knut if no one can afford to make it.' He pulled the jar of acorns towards him, lifted a single one out with his silver tongs, and dropped it carefully into the goblet of liquid.

Lupin grinned. 'Good point. I should have known better. That looks good.' He nodded at the dose of Wolfsbane, which was already beginning to glow a silvery white.

Severus looked at it critically. 'It needs a few more minutes. It's a shame it looks so much nicer than it tastes.'

'I think I agree with you more on that than I've ever done about anything, ever,' Lupin said wryly. 'By the way – will you be coming to Dumbledore's Yule Party, or will you manage to get out of it somehow?'

Severus flickered an eyebrow. 'I'm not sure getting out of it is even an option. I imagine it's a three-line whip kind of event.'

'What on earth is a three-line whip?'

'Oh.' Now he regretted saying it. Why was this such a feature of his conversations with Lupin, that he constantly said things without thinking? 'It's a Muggle term – from their political system, it's to do with voting. It means – you must attend, you must do what we tell you.'

'I see,' Lupin said instead, smiling. 'I thought for a moment Albus had got a lot stricter in his leadership style than I realised.' Then his smile widened. 'Or a lot kinkier.'

Severus said nothing – it seemed safest – and devoted himself to stirring the Wolfsbane again.

'So – er – am I right in thinking Albus doesn't usually hold these parties?' Lupin said, clearly sensing Severus's unresponsiveness to humour.

'It's the first one since I've been here. I take it to be because the Sirius Black situation is making life difficult for everyone. He wants to lighten the mood, or something.'

Lupin smiled again, but more uncertainly. 'Well, I wouldn't mind if it was just going to be the staff, but I can't say I'm thrilled about the governors being there. They don't know about – my condition. Not to mention the thought of meeting Lucius Malfoy and having to be polite to him.' He made a face of disgust.

'I may well be tasked with keeping an eye on him,' Severus said. Inwardly he congratulated his own strategising. A perfect way to make it seem natural when he glued himself to Lucius's side for the entire evening.

'That doesn't sound very fun for you.'

Oh, he really had no idea how wrong he was. He flickered an eyebrow and said dryly, 'I have a somewhat frosty relationship with fun anyway.' Then, when he saw Lupin looking at him in what he suspected was fast approaching sympathy, he added, 'No doubt you'll be able to keep out of Malfoy's way.'

'Yes, I'll certainly try,' Lupin agreed. 'Also – what do you think the dress code will be? It's just that – I don't actually have dress robes at the moment. I tore them to pieces a while back – pre-Wolfsbane, obviously – and haven't got round to replacing them yet.'

Severus was about to ask Lupin whether his very generous Hogwarts salary couldn't stretch to a new set of dress robes, but it occurred to him that the werewolf might have debts to pay off, money he'd been forced to borrow over the years when no one would employ him. Instead he said, 'It would be unlike Albus to set a dress code for something like this, I doubt it'll matter.' He nodded at the goblet. 'You can drink that now.'

'Oh, yes, all right.' Lupin came over and lifted the full goblet from the workbench.

Something occurred to Severus. 'Actually, one thing before you do.' He opened his big ledger and picked up his quill. 'This disinhibited state you go through just after you drink it. Can you describe it in more detail?'

'Describe it?'

'I mean, what does it feel like? I can give you some prompts if it's difficult, but it's better if you use your own words. I want to understand exactly what happens in the body when the Wolfsbane is drunk.'

'Ah.' Lupin looked suddenly embarrassed. 'Well, it's a bit – it's hard to explain, to be honest – or rather it's –' He broke off.

'Lupin,' Severus said wearily, 'I have been researching potions for nearly twenty years. Whatever you are going to say, I think I can cope.'

The werewolf sighed, and gave a rueful smile. 'Maybe another time, is that all right?' Without waiting for an answer he lifted the goblet and drained its contents, then got up. 'Thank you for doing this. Again. Have a good week.' To Severus's annoyance, he started to make his way towards the door of the dungeon.

'_Lupin_.'

He spoke a little more sharply than he had meant to, but it stopped the werewolf dead. Lupin turned and looked back at him, his eyes noticeably different now – what _was_ it, why did that shining golden expression look so familiar? – and waited.

He paused for a second, to make sure his voice would be calm. 'You understand there is a limit to how much I can improve this potion if you don't answer my questions.'

Lupin nodded, but didn't reply. Then with a strange expression he said softly, 'Good night, Severus,' and turned and left the dungeon.

This was becoming a habit: a friendly-ish conversation with an awkward ending. Perhaps it was inevitable, that they could only sustain professional courtesy for a limited time, before the old hostility resurfaced.

He picked up the goblet and took it to the sink to wash, dumping the silvery acorn into the drain. Well, at least Lupin would be out of action for a few days now, and he had a few days' break from evening brewing. Perhaps his body might accept, even temporarily, that the threat had gone away, and consent to let him sleep. He wondered if he would ever catch up on the rest he had missed throughout the long years of his life. Somehow, he doubted it.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning at breakfast, Severus found himself noticing Lupin's absence more than usual. Bunch of misfits as the Hogwarts staff was, the werewolf had fitted in remarkably well – certainly better than Lockhart, though this wasn't saying much. He was already very popular with students and staff; not even Severus's own Slytherins had voiced much complaint about him; he was clearly a competent and effective teacher. It seemed likely that, notwithstanding the supposed curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, Lupin might well be here for the foreseeable future. All the more reason to develop an easier version of the Wolfsbane, so he could hand back responsibility for brewing it.

As he rose to leave the table, he saw Dumbledore beckoning to him, and went over.

'Good morning, Severus,' the Headmaster said, standing up to meet him. 'Did all go well with Remus last night?'

Not _all_, Severus thought darkly, recalling his annoyance last night, and the awkward end of his conversation with Lupin. But this wasn't something to share with Dumbledore. 'More or less,' he said.

'Very good.' Dumbledore smiled. 'Strange to think, isn't it, that in this very castle, at this very moment, there is a large, dangerous wolf lying by the fire in his bedroom and sleeping peacefully.'

Severus said nothing, but the image Dumbledore painted was an intriguing one. He found himself wondering how possible it would be to poke his head into Lupin's rooms, to catch a glimpse of the beast that had nearly attacked him, now tamed and sleeping. But somehow he doubted this idea was either practical or ethical.

Dumbledore was smiling, apparently watching him think. Then he said, 'How is your Wolfsbane work going, are you making progress?'

'Some,' Severus said. 'I hope the real progress will begin from this week. 'He explained his plans for the coconut ingredients. 'I may revert to a more familiar oil in the end, but I think it's worth a try. In the meantime I've made a couple of minor changes to the existing formula, to make it more palatable. It was causing Lupin to vomit, which obviously risked the potion not being fully absorbed. But I think that problem is solved now.'

'I'm sure Remus very much appreciates that,' Dumbledore said. 'I've been thinking I'd like to have a meeting with the two of you, just to get a full update on how things are going. Would that be amenable to you?'

Christ almighty, would these demands never cease. But it wasn't as if he had any choice. 'As long as you make it just after this full moon. Otherwise we'll have to have the meeting at my workbench while I work on next month's Wolfsbane.'

The Headmaster smiled. 'Of course. The sooner the better. I'll speak to Lupin once he's' – His gaze moved suddenly to look over Severus's shoulder. 'Minerva – are you all right?'

Severus turned to find McGonagall behind him, looking somewhat exasperated. 'Is either of you free this morning?' she said. 'We need a cover teacher for Remus, his third and sixth year classes. Rolanda was meant to be doing it – but she's in the hospital wing – she went for a ride earlier this morning and fell off her broom, she's broken her collarbone and shoulder.'

'Oh dear,' Dumbledore said. 'I take it Poppy can mend it?'

'Yes, yes, she'll probably be fine by the afternoon – but Remus's lessons, tell me one of you can do it, but everyone else is teaching and I don't want to start asking prefects …'

No, Severus thought. Absolutely no fucking way.

'I can certainly cover the second half of the morning,' Dumbledore said, 'but I'm afraid I'm expecting Newt Scamander in the next hour or so, we have an appointment of somewhat long standing. Severus – I know you're already doing so much – I wouldn't normally ask, but do you think, just this once …?'

He closed his eyes. 'Fine.' He could not be bothered to argue, and had no alternative to suggest. At least it would stop him going back to his office and falling asleep over his desk – which was probably the only thing he'd have achieved that morning anyway.

Dumbledore gripped his shoulder. 'Thank you very much, Severus. Newt is keen to meet Hagrid's hippogriff, and we have a great deal to discuss besides. I'll let you know about the meeting with Remus …'

He went away cheerfully. Minerva, too, said a hasty thank you and hurried away to whatever her next crisis might be. Severus was left standing alone at the staff table. 'Fuck fuck fuck,' he muttered, took a deep breath – then, hoping none of the students were watching him, picked up Dumbledore's unfinished cup of coffee and drained it in one gulp. He was owed this much, at least.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in Lupin's chair in Lupin's classroom, and he was reprimanding Harry Potter for being late.

(Different classroom, same old shit, one part of his mind noted dryly.)

Then Potter said, 'Where's Professor Lupin?'

'He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,' Severus said. 'I believe I told you to sit down?'

But Potter didn't move. 'What's wrong with him?'

Of course, Severus thought, Potter had cosied up very successfully to his father's old friend. 'Nothing life-threatening,' he said coldly. 'Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.'

Thankfully the Boy Who Lived, perhaps more aptly named the Boy Who Failed To Die Gracefully At His Appointed Hour, conceded defeat at this point, and sat down.

Severus continued. 'As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far –'

'Please, sir,' Hermione Granger said out of nowhere, 'we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows, and we're just about to start –'

'Be quiet. I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation.'

This, at least, was a reasonable complaint. Not that the students understood: they didn't know Lupin was able to plan his sick days with such precision, years in advance, even. He began to turn pages of the third-year textbook, searching for a suitable topic. _R__eally_ – some notes, a lesson plan, even the faintest hint of what to teach, should have been left on the desk for him.

Then Dean Thomas said from the back of the room, his face glowing with defiance, 'He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had.'

A murmur of agreement from the class. Severus could feel the pressure in his chest increasing. He had not expected so much resistance from them, and his normally iron control over his own moods was struggling. 'You are easily satisfied,' he managed to sneer. 'Lupin is hardly over-taxing you – I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows.' Also reasonable. 'Today we shall discuss …'

Then he turned one more page of the textbook, and went cold.

He was sitting in Lupin's classroom, staring down at a detailed, colourful picture. A picture of the full moon and the silhouette of a long-snouted wolf, howling.

Something in him, stretched and weakened from lack of sleep, broke. A wave of hatred surged in his chest. _Fuck_ Lupin.

He looked up at the students, and spoke very softly. 'Werewolves.'

_A/N: Slow progress at the moment, I'm afraid! Continued thanks to everyone reading and following this story. Hope to have another chapter up soon … –SS–_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

It wasn't worth it.

When would he learn? It was _never_ worth it.

At the end of the lesson he strode from Lupin's classroom and heard the third-years relax into chatter behind him. They were mainly indignant he'd taught something unexpected, and furious he'd set them so much homework. They didn't know the real offence he'd committed – the reason Lupin would be furious, and with good reason, when he came back to teaching and found out what Severus had taught his class.

And whatever damage he had already done could be double, tripled, multiplied to infinity if the students began to cotton on. Hermione Granger would be first – he had seen her furrowing her brow and counting something on her fingers when she didn't realise he could see her. She would work it out quickly enough.

And Blaise Zabini, the cleverest Slytherin in his year, he had looked rather preoccupied, hadn't he? – and Zabini was a much more dangerous proposition than Granger if he did find out, since his uncle was editor of the _Prophet_. It would be the next day's front page, for certain, with long editorials baying for Lupin's blood. (A not unsuitable metaphor.)

Back in the dungeon he sat down at his desk, and stayed there for an hour, keeping very still, thinking.

He couldn't do anything about the students now – either they would work it out, or they wouldn't. The consequences for him and Lupin. The class would complain to Lupin, and Lupin would be horrified, and he might, surely he _would_, tell Dumbledore. And then what? Under some headmasters this would undoubtedly be a sacking offence – but, then again, most headmasters wouldn't have employed a werewolf in the first place. With Dumbledore you never really knew.

But a sharp reprimand, at least, seemed likely. It would be unpleasant, and he would have to give some kind of explanation, a formal apology. Lupin and Dumbledore would sit there looking at him with disappointment, and disapproval, and maybe even pity, for this sad man with such a vindictive and bitter set of motives.

Unexpectedly tears rose in his eyes, his throat tightening. It would look so _deliberate_ to them – a calculated revenge with potentially far-reaching consequences – when really it had been a simple stress response.

In the old days such a mistake would have cost him his life. Nowadays it would only cost him respect and trust – and he was grateful for that, he really was grateful to be living in such safety – but respect and trust were important too, weren't they? – and he didn't want to expose Lupin, he honestly didn't – but for god's sake, why hadn't some work been left for him? – oh, christ, if only he could get some sleep – and why did Potter have to be such a little shit? – and why ––

No. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He had to stop spiralling. It had happened, he couldn't change it. The important thing now was what to _do_.

* * *

He was subdued for the rest of the day. The coconut ingredients arrived at lunchtime, and he had to show Julius Lottringer, his Belgian supplier, down to his store cupboards with the crates of bottles floating alongside them; but he didn't bother offering him lunch or even coffee, despite his long journey. Lottringer was courteous, but clearly a little offended as he bowed himself out.

In his afternoon classes Severus hardly spoke at all, simply waving the instructions onto the blackboard, then sitting down to mark essays while the class worked, taking a perfunctory tour of the room from time to time to mutter half-hearted rebukes. At dinner he arrived late so he could sit on the very end of the table, next to Filch, and apart from the grunt they exchanged in greeting, he said nothing at all. Afterwards he went straight back to the dungeon and began to unpack the crates, checking the bottles against the delivery notes, and holding one up to the light to get a sense of the liquid within.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and he was breathing more easily with the relief of not having to see anyone else that day, when there was a knock on the door.

He considered ignoring it. Then said reluctantly, 'Yes?'

The door opened, and the tiny figure of Filius Flitwick appeared, looking rather serious. 'Hello, Severus, sorry to disturb you, I was wondering if I might have a word with you about something?'

Severus blinked. 'Certainly.' He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Flitwick down here. The only member of staff who'd made the long trek down here lately was Lupin.

With a flick of his wand he brought a high stool over from one of the workbenches for Flitwick to perch on, and sat down behind his desk. Flitwick levitated himself up onto the stool and sat there, arranging his grey robes around his small body. He looked slightly embarrassed.

'Well?'

'It's a bit delicate, Severus – I hope you won't be angry, but – I happened to teach the third-year Gryffindor-Slytherin class this morning, just after their Defence lesson.'

Oh, shit.

Severus tried to keep his gaze steady. 'And?' he said.

'Well, they were a bit unsettled, and so, I'm sure I should have insisted they focus on the lesson but, I asked them what was the matter, and they told me you'd been teaching Lupin's lesson because he was ill, and you'd – that you'd – taught them about werewolves.'

'Yes. And?'

'_Werewolves_, Severus?' Flitwick said pointedly.

He tried to sound exasperated. 'No work had been left. I chose a topic from the third-year textbook. One that I suspect Lupin would much rather not to have to teach himself.'

This was not, actually, an implausible explanation. Dumbledore wouldn't believe it – and probably not Lupin either – but it might just do for now – and indeed Flitwick looked hesitant. Clearly he hadn't planned what to say in this scenario. It wouldn't take much more to make him back off now, he had never been good at confrontation. Mentally Severus prepared a few more biting remarks about the unfairness of being made to cover Lupin's classes as well as making the Wolfsbane, and hoped that would get rid of him.

But then Flitwick said something quite unexpected. 'Are you – are you having trouble sleeping, Severus?'

Severus narrowed his eyes. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'Well – do forgive me saying this, but – you have looked somewhat unwell recently. I wondered if perhaps – having Lupin here, and all the worry with Sirius Black, it can't be easy' –

'We all have our cross to bear,' Severus said shortly. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I need to' –

'What I was going to say,' Flitwick went on hastily, 'is, if you would like, I can apply a charm to your bed to help you sleep.'

That silenced him. He stared at Flitwick. 'I've never heard of such a charm.'

'It's called Somnaclara,' Flitwick said. 'Unfortunately it's a little difficult, a little fiddly, otherwise I'm sure this would be used by the entire wizarding world, there would be no more need for sleeping potions.' He flashed an apologetic little smile. 'But once you get it right it's very effective, and there isn't much of a groggy feeling in the morning. And – there's no chance of getting addicted. I've used it myself when I've been feeling particularly anxious.'

Severus said nothing. He was slightly disconcerted by how much Flitwick seemed to know – about his sleep, and his worries about addiction –

'I was going to offer it to Remus too,' Flitwick added. 'I'd bet ten Sickles he isn't sleeping properly either, he's looked worse and worse all term. I did wonder, when Dumbledore – he always seems so sure of himself, but bringing Remus to work here, with your history, and Sirius Black and everything – I'm not sure he quite anticipated' –

Yes, well,' Severus said, cutting him off. That was a conversation he emphatically did not want to have. But – to _sleep_ – _tonight_ – to wake up a little restored, and be ready to face Lupin when he reappeared … To be the Severus Snape of before, upright and controlled, serious and intelligent and productive …

Finally he said, 'If you – could – I mean – what does it involve, this charm? How long does it take?'

'About half an hour,' Flitwick said. 'It's a personal charm, so I'd need you there with me, and your wand for a part of it. But if you wish, we can go now, I'd like to see you looking better at breakfast.' He nodded at the half-unpacked crates of coconut ingredients. 'I'm sure you could finish those tomorrow.'

Severus took a deep breath. 'Yes – if you – I mean – yes.' It was all he could trust himself to say: his whole head felt light with joy and relief.

'Excellent!' Flitwick jumped off his high chair. 'Oh, and if you feel like repaying me with a few games of chess once you're feeling better, I certainly won't say no to that.'

Severus got up too, extinguishing his desk lamp and gathering up his wand and robes. 'Certainly. All we need to do is persuade Lupin to stop transforming into a wolf for a few months so I have some time to practise. Perhaps he could oblige in exchange for _his_ sleeping charm?'

They went out of the dungeons, Flitwick laughing merrily, and Severus realised that he had just made a joke for the first time in weeks.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the charm was laid, Flitwick was gone, and Severus was standing alone in his room. His thanks to Flitwick had been brief and quiet, but heartfelt, and Flitwick had gripped his arm and beamed before leaving him.

Now it was time. He went over to the bed, somewhat apprehensive now – what if it didn't work? – and laid a hand on the dark green counterpane. Immediately a feeling of great ease and weariness rose up through his arm: the feeling of sleep. It was so strong, he let out a whimper of longing. He nearly lay down fully-clothed onto the bed there and then; but he managed to wash his face, clean his teeth, and change into his black nightshirt before getting under the covers.

And here it was: delicious, a wonderful drowsiness all through his body, like a faint wind over a dark sea. He fell asleep.

* * *

When he opened his eyes it was a chill, clear November morning, with the sun just rising over the frozen hills, and things felt a little better.

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for such a long delay in publishing this chapter! And Happy Christmas to all who celebrate._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The two late November days before Lupin was due to return from his wolf-coma were very strange for Severus. He had never been an especially good sleeper, even when not in the grip of bad insomnia. There had been anxieties, and flashback dreams, and many nights when he'd chosen to sit up late reading rather than face the agony of trying to sleep.

And now – now, he only had to lay a hand on his bed and that feeling of gorgeous weariness would rise up in him. And he only had to lie down on the bed, and within a single minute he would be asleep, and all he knew about it was that he regained consciousness at the appointed time (which he set every night using the supplementary charm Flitwick had taught him), clear-headed and completely unaware of anything that might have passed during the night. Flitwick had assured him he would awaken if anyone knocked at the door or entered the room, or if there was a loud noise; Severus had to take it on good trust that none of these things had happened when he found his eyes opening after eight or nine hours of miraculous oblivion.

'It's extraordinary, isn't it?' Flitwick agreed when Severus remarked on this at breakfast. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better,' Severus said succinctly – by which he meant – oh, so many things: calmer, sharp-minded, more cheerful, more optimistic. He _wanted_ to pour a little coconut oil into a dish tonight and begin exploring its properties. He _wanted_ his students to produce creditable work and was reasonably willing to help them do it.

And he wanted more. He began to think again of future plans. He was only thirty-seven, he was blessed with a good memory and a fierce brain and an ambition to _do_ things. Life had to hold more for him than this.

On the other hand, there was still his guilt to deal with – which he could feel like a light press on his chest – and the fallout from his idiocy in Lupin's classroom. Now it was Wednesday, and Lupin would be back at work tomorrow. Severus had checked the timetable: tomorrow afternoon Lupin would see his third-years and be told, by twenty voices no doubt all talking at once, that their substitute teacher had taught them in precise detail how to recognise a werewolf.

Well. Perhaps nineteen voices. If Hermione Granger had caught his drift, as he'd suspected, then perhaps even she, relentlessly talkative as she was, might have the sense to sit quietly and watch Lupin's reaction when they told him.

His apprehension took a sudden spike upwards when Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder at dinner and said, 'How would Friday evening suit for our meeting with Remus? I wasn't sure if you might be away for some of this weekend since it's immediately after the full moon?'

Severus shook his head. Yes, he had calculated his best and wondered if he could get away that weekend to visit Lucius – but even as he'd counted the days until the December full moon he'd known it wouldn't work. He had to start the Wolfsbane on Friday, and add several things on Saturday, if the rest of the brewing was to work. 'Friday is all right,' he said. 'If we could make it straight after dinner?'

'Of course!' Dumbledore smiled at him. 'You look more like yourself again, Severus. I'm glad you took Filius up on his offer.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'I should have known he would scuttle straight to you to report.'

'Don't be too hard on him,' Dumbledore said, squeezing Severus's shoulder again. 'Several of our other colleagues have asked me recently if you're all right. You may not care to know it, but we do feel a lot of concern for your welfare.'

'How unnecessary,' Severus muttered. As Dumbledore went off chuckling, he wondered if it would be the last truly affectionate conversation they would ever have.

* * *

That night he made his first potion with the coconut oil. It was a simple skin salve, one he made regularly to help with the sore, dry hands he had had for most of his twenty years of chopping and grinding and stirring over a smoking or billowing cauldron. Normally he used rose or lavender oil, and it was a simple enough formula that it would allow him to test how the coconut oil changes things.

He worked without notes or a book, improvising a few different versions of the salve, some with added drops of the rose or lavender, others with things chosen almost at random: one with lily-of-the-valley, one with almonds, and, on a whim, one version with a single mermaid scale ground very fine. The coconut oil was good, he realised quickly. It went with most things, and it went easily, and it smelled extremely nice: his dungeon would soon resemble a perfumery more than a potions laboratory if he carried on working with it. After two hours of work, he bottled the two best salves and small samples of the rest, and sat down to write up his notes.

It was just after ten o'clock when he closed his ledger. So, tomorrow. Tomorrow morning Lupin would be back, tired and rather weak, but no doubt cheerful. Lunchtime he would still be oblivious. It would be dinnertime – or possibly just before – when the trouble would start, after his third-year class. Lupin would go and see Dumbledore, and maybe they would wait until their meeting on Friday to confront him, but then, _then_ it was inevitable, he would have to offer some kind of explanation, or apology, and he still had no clear plan for what he would say.

To cut through his brooding he took a sheet of parchment and, somewhat against his own better judgment, wrote a very short letter.

_Lucius,_

_Some while ago you suggested arranging a meeting in Hogsmeade. Friday night – that is, tomorrow – may be possible for me, though only from ten or eleven. Saturday similarly. Daytime busy. Let me know by return owl. _

_S._

He signed his initial with a reckless little curl at the bottom of the S: something he'd largely trained himself out of, but which still crept in on occasions. At least he didn't thicken the top into a head and add a forked tongue, as he'd done in the old days.

And maybe it would add to the letter's persuasiveness – after all, come Friday night, there was little doubt that he would need some serious cheering up.

* * *

The next day, things began much as he had predicted. Here was Lupin back at breakfast, pale and moving rather stiffly to his seat – but smiling at Hagrid as he sat down and keeping the smile even when Hagrid knocked a jug of orange juice across the table; Lupin merely siphoned it up with his wand, and majicked clean his spattered trousers.

At lunch it was the same story. This time Lupin was only two seats away, on the other side of Rolanda Hooch. Severus not only had the embarrassment of hearing his potion-making praised by Lupin, but Hooch suddenly turned to him and said, 'Severus, I am so very sorry about my stupid flying accident. Thank you so much for stepping in.'

He shook his head mutely, mortified, and went on buttering his bread roll. Soon they would find out that apologies and thanks were entirely inappropriate.

He was alarmed at first to see that when the seat on Lupin's other side was vacated, Flitwick came hurrying over and launched into a murmured conversation with him. Surely – not now – not in front of everyone –

Then he caught the phrase "groggy head" and realised, of course, Flitwick was offering Lupin the benefit of the Somnaclara charm, and Lupin was accepting with a little bow of gratitude. Perhaps one of these days the charm would come as standard with a job at Hogwarts. God knew most of them could do with it.

When he finished teaching for the day, Severus took care to set up his brewing equipment before he went up for dinner. Lupin would know now – the thought made him go slightly weak – Lupin would know what had happened, and now, _now_ would be the moment of reckoning. And it was too early to hear back from Lucius Malfoy, the owl would barely have arrived in London, so he intended to come back down after dinner and plunge straight into work – regardless of what happened, whatever Lupin said or however he behaved.

He took a quick look in the mirror – hair clumping in greasy strands from the day's cauldron-vapours, robes singed and stained – and muttered, 'Not inapt.' No point looking good if he was about to be exposed as the vengeful teenager he really was.

He started to climb the stairs, his heart beginning to pound. Who knew but this might be the last dinner he ever ate at Hogwarts. He could almost hear Dumbledore's quiet voice: _Perhaps it is time for a change, Severus. You aren't happy here – I'm not sure you ever really have been._ And it would be true. His only regret – or, no, his most _pressing_ regret – was that he would miss out on flirting with Lucius at the Yule Feast. The small glamour of putting his dress robes on and combing his hair back into a ponytail – to allow himself to be vain, just this once – and then standing with Lucius, desire shimmering between them unnoticed by everyone else in the room – to see Lucius's approving gaze, that hard stare of –

_Oh._

He stopped dead halfway up the stairs, students' voices echoing down to him.

_That_ was it.

Suddenly he knew what it was, the look in Lupin's eyes just after he had drunk the Wolfsbane, that shining golden, slightly amused, oddly intense look. It was desire.

He began to climb the stairs again, his mind white-hot with thought. Yes, it made perfect sense. The poppyseed and the – yes, and his addition of rosewater would actually exacerbate – and of course, Lupin's embarrassment. Not impossible it was giving him an erection right there in the dungeon.

Just before Severus entered the Great Hall he paused, to carefully banish the thought of a werewolf standing in his classroom trying to conceal a hard-on. He felt again the triumph of the realisation. He reminded himself to be nervous. He went in.

And then, of course, Lupin wasn't at dinner after all, and Severus had to spend forty-five grinding minutes eating food he wasn't hungry for, wondering why his doom hadn't yet come to claim him.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you very much for the new follows and reviews, and sorry for the delay in finishing this chapter! –SS–_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Apologies for the long delays in publishing on this story – work and general pandemic stress have unsurprisingly been taking up my energy, but I am still thinking about the story and working about it, it's not abandoned. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favourited and reviewed! –SS–_

* * *

**Chapter 14**

And so Friday came.

The breakfast post brought no reply from Lucius and, once again, no Lupin. It did, however, bring the unpleasant news that the Ministry were going to put Hagrid's Hippogriff on trial for injuring Draco earlier that term. Hagrid, further down the table, sat utterly miserable, not eating; and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank discreetly kept her head down, spooned porridge into her mouth, and left without a word.

It was a rotten business, and Severus couldn't help feeling a little disgusted at Lucius. It was a typical Malfoy move: creating drama where there was none, framing themselves as the victims, wringing every last drop of dignity out of those they considered inferior. Perhaps it was just as well Lucius hadn't taken him up on his offer of a night in Hogsmeade. But then – a sudden memory of Lucius's hair, Lucius's sweat, Lucius's moans, seized him, made him grip his coffee cup with longing. _Merlin_, if only Lucius was coming tonight, if only they could – But he wasn't coming. With concerted effort Severus took a deep breath, drank his coffee, and descended into the shadows of the dungeons to teach.

Lunchtime brought a gloomy Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling grey and overcast, and the students subdued. Hagrid was still unhappy, Dumbledore looked grave, McGonagall stabbed her roast potatoes with evident agitation. Lupin was, again, absent. Severus ate quietly and went back downstairs, having barely exchanged a word with anyone.

* * *

The tremor in his hands started just as his final students trooped out of the dungeon at half past five. He assumed it was hunger: it was nearly dinner-time and, his appetites being rather variable, he sometimes didn't notice he was hungry until he got a bit shaky. He finished clearing up his classroom and headed up to dinner on slightly wobbly legs.

Eating, however, did not help. And nor did Lupin's absence, yet again, from the meal. By the time Severus got upstairs to his bedroom and shut the door, he was shaking visibly, not just in his hands but in his joints, down his whole arms and legs.

Jerkily he moved to his bed and crouched down against it, his forehead already damp and cool with sweat. He checked the clock on the wall: just after seven. His chest was tight. He had perhaps fifteen minutes before he had to head to the meeting with Lupin and Dumbledore, and of _all the times_ he could have had a panic attack at his own convenience, his body was choosing this moment.

He tried to breathe against the pressure in his chest – _in_, counting two, three, four – and _out_, two, three four. And repeat. He hadn't expected this. Christ, he hadn't practised Occlumency for months, so perhaps it shouldn't be a total shock, but – oh, this was awful, cold sweat was pooling in his armpits and behind his ears and behind his _knees_ for god's sake – he would lose his job – he would lose his _home_ – he would lose the library – his potions equipment – his ingredients – his – his –

He pushed the thought away and focused on sucking breath in, holding it, and pushing it out. In – hold – and out.

After what felt like an hour, things gradually began to loosen. He checked the clock again. Twenty past seven. He had to go or he would be late. He wasn't even sure if he could stand …

Slowly he levered himself to his feet, muscles protesting, chest still tight, legs trembling under his weight, and took a few steps towards the wardrobe. All right, he could walk. Perhaps a Calming Draught would – or if he just took three or four drops of hydra serum – just to settle him for the meeting with Lupin –

'_No_,' he said aloud. No, he wouldn't. Anyway there wasn't time. For another minute he stood there, hand against the wall, breathing, until he was more or less steady and his mind was clear. Then quietly he opened his door, stepped into the corridor, and closed it behind him.

* * *

'Come in!' called Dumbledore's cheery voice from behind the door.

He entered Dumbledore's study with his hands clenched sweatily together behind his back, trying to conceal the remainder of the tremor.

Dumbledore was standing behind his desk, and, to his surprise, Lupin was already there, getting up from his armchair, a half-drunk cup of tea in front of him.

'Am I late?' Severus asked. 'I thought we said half past.' He could feel Lupin looking at him; he shot him a glance and the werewolf immediately looked away.

'Yes, yes, you're perfectly on time, Severus,' Albus assured him. 'I asked Remus to come a little early so we could discuss a few other things. Do sit down, have some tea. How are you?'

'Fine.' He sat down in the second armchair. He lifted an arm to pour himself some tea, then immediately lowered it again. He was still too shaky, it would be unbearably obvious.

Lupin was watching him again, with an odd expression. Then he turned to Dumbledore and said, 'So, Albus, we were going to start with the brewing routine?'

Dumbledore hesitated for just a moment – but straightaway Severus understood: there had been a different plan, agreed just before he'd arrived, and Lupin had just this instant decided not to go through with it, presumably on seeing he was unwell. Some Gryffindor thing, no doubt, about not kicking a man when he was down.

'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore said smoothly. 'Severus, I was hoping we could discuss each aspect of your work on the Wolfsbane, to make sure you and Remus are both happy with things. Is the brewing routine you have established to your satisfaction?'

He thought for a moment, trying to get his mind back into a normal state. So it wouldn't – it wouldn't be today. 'Well – yes, more or less. The whole thing takes longer than I had expected – just over three weeks from start to finish including preparing the ingredients. But most days don't need more than one or two – I mean – it's not a great commitment, to just make one dose per month.'

Dumbledore waved his wand and the teapot lifted itself and poured into the empty cup in front of Severus. 'Do have some tea. And what about the arrangement for Remus to come down to you for the dose the evening before the full moon, is that working all right?'

'Yes.' He accepted the cup, holding the saucer firmly on his knee with one hand, and the cup with the other. He would get through this. He would.

'Good. And so, now, the improvements to the potion. You told me about some of them, and Remus has also said to me how much he appreciates the reduced nausea.' Dumbledore grinned briefly at Lupin. 'Perhaps you could just say again, while we're all here, what stage you've reached?'

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This officious little tic of Dumbledore, to make sure everything was said out loud, while everyone was in the same room. But even this slight irritation started to speed up his heart rate, and he could feel his hands start to sweat again. He calmed himself and began to enumerate the changes on his fingers. 'I have moved the poppyseed to a later stage of the brewing so it doesn't interact badly with the monkshood and cause the nausea. I have more or less found the right quantity and concentration of rosewater to slow the brewing at the moment for the lamination of the monkshood, so there is less chance of missing the timing. And I have begun to test coconut oil for its potential in designing a new version of the Wolfsbane. That's it, so far.'

'You have achieved a great deal in a few short months, Severus,' Dumbledore said, smiling and shaking his head in admiration. 'But I have also felt a little concerned, as has Remus, that you have been overworking yourself.'

Severus raised an eyebrow, flickering another glance at Lupin, who did not meet his eye. 'I understood my brief to be to make improvements to the design of the potion. I cannot do that without working in the evenings and over the weekend.'

'We wondered,' Lupin added a little shyly, 'if you would consider taking a research assistant to help with the more repetitive tasks.'

'Certainly not.'

Dumbledore leaned forward across the desk, his expression serious. 'Severus, listen to me. Redesigning a potion from scratch is a huge task. And Remus mentioned that – well, it strikes me that one of your more reliable students might benefit from the experience. If you could find – of course, Remus volunteered himself, but – might it be a useful project for one of your sixth or seventh-years? Can you think of a reliable candidate?'

'Certainly not,' he repeated stubbornly. 'Designing a new potion is extremely precise, I wouldn't trust a single one of my students to be careful enough to help.'

'He'd have to share the profits with them, that's the trouble,' Lupin said wryly.

Severus turned to him. 'You are strongly encouraged to keep your opinions to yourself, _werewolf_.'

Lupin raised an eyebrow – and his face flushed a little – but he said nothing.

'Severus,' Dumbledore said firmly, 'you are doing this research on my instructions, in my school, on my budget. There is no one I would trust more to produce a good Wolfsbane – but not at the expense of your health. This is a large project. I'm very glad Filius's sleep charm is working, but I must insist on further changes to your way of living. I want you to restrict your research to no more than two evenings during the week and one day at weekends, with or without an assistant, and to spend a little more time with your colleagues. I want my school to be a community, not full of individuals squirrelling themselves away in burrows. This is more important now than ever.'

By the end of this speech Severus's face was hot. Dumbledore had said worse things to him before – _You disgust me_ were difficult words to forget – but to be rebuked like this, in front of Lupin, was deeply humiliating. 'You have made your point,' he said stiffly.

'Good.' Dumbledore's face brightened. 'Oh, and I want you to take a complete holiday from improving the Wolfsbane until after Christmas – make Remus's dose, but nothing more. Please don't argue. And I hear you owe Filius a few games of chess. Perhaps you could play in the staff room? I'm sure we would all enjoy being spectators to a battle of intellect.'

Severus said nothing. He could feel both Lupin and Dumbledore watching him, waiting for him to speak. The tea was getting cold on his knee.

He lifted his eyes for a moment and found that Fawkes, high on his perch behind Dumbledore's chair, was looking him directly in the eye. He sighed. 'All right. I will take a research assistant after Christmas.' And I will damn well start Occlumency practice again, he added mentally.

'I'm glad,' Dumbledore said. 'You will have a great deal to teach whichever student you choose. Do you have any likely candidates?'

He pretended to consider, though he knew instantly who it should be. After a suitable pause he said, 'Perhaps Elizabeth Quirke, the Ravenclaw sixth-year. She has shown some flair recently.' Then another thought occurred to him. 'If she notices that I'm brewing Wolfsbane for the full moon I'll have to say I'm doing it on an external contract. Perhaps for the Ministry? And you' – he looked at Lupin – 'will have to be extremely discreet about coming down for it.'

Lupin nodded. 'I can use the Floo network, if you don't mind the element of surprise.'

'If you're as punctual as I would expect, it won't _be_ a surprise,' Severus said. 'Is there anything else?' He was starting to feel exhausted: the tension of the last few days, the panic attack, and now the relief of not losing his job, had drained him.

'I do have one or two other small things, if you wouldn't mind staying a little longer,' Dumbledore said apologetically. 'Remus, is there anything you think we haven't covered?'

Giving him one more chance to voice the grievance, Severus thought. But no, Remus shook his head and said, 'I'm happy if you are, Severus. Glad you're going to get a bit of a break.'

They held each other's eyes for a couple of seconds; then Severus looked away, too tired for another staring contest. Remus gave a small smile, said goodnight, and quietly left the room.

Dumbledore said nothing at first. His brows furrowed as he looked at Severus's teacup; then he Vanished the cold tea and waved the teapot and milk jug through the air to refill the cup with steaming liquid. 'Do have some tea. Tell me, are you well? Have you had a tolerable week?'

Severus swallowed. 'Not really.' He lifted the cup and took a sip of hot tea, which was surprisingly delicious and soothing. Surely – no, Dumbledore knew better than to give him narcotics, especially without his knowledge. It was just very good tea.

Suddenly he looked at the Headmaster and said honestly, 'I thought you were going to sack me.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Well, I was a little taken aback when Remus told me what had happened. He was very frightened, you know, I think he thought it would be an immediate end to his secret. I didn't – I wouldn't have expected you to do something like that.'

Severus was silent.

'You should ask him some time about his life before he took this job,' Dumbledore said. 'I know some of the details, not all, but he has suffered much more than you would imagine from his cheerful demeanour.'

Severus still didn't reply. He was wondering whether to warn Dumbledore that at least one student had seemed close to working it out. Finally he said, 'I'm amazed the Ministry hasn't leaked it to the _Prophet_ already.'

'Yes, well, Remus knows that is a risk. There are some good souls in the Werewolf Office, but Fudge, of course … It was Fudge's permission I had to get before offering Remus the post. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he were to let it slip out at some advantageous moment. But it's a risk Remus and I agreed we would take for now.'

Severus nodded. Then he said, somewhat to his own surprise, 'Lupin needs dress robes. He has none. He's worried about the Yule Feast.'

Dumbledore beamed. 'Severus, you are a treasure. A Christmas present solved without any effort or inspiration on my part. What colour do you think would suit him best?'

'Not being Madam Malkin, I have absolutely no idea,' Severus said dryly.

'How about a very dark blue, do you think?'

It was so obviously wrong that he couldn't stop himself. 'No. A warmer colour. Dark purple maybe. Or maroon.' He took a final sip of his tea, and noticed that Fawkes was still watching him, with an unreadable expression.

Dumbledore was nodding thoughtfully. 'Yes, of course you're right. I would love to see you wear more colours some day, you know. Perhaps you'd consider a dark green? Or even a charcoal grey, it would make a change from your usual black, and I think it would suit you nicely.'

'I doubt that,' Severus muttered. What Dumbledore didn't know – or at least, Severus didn't _think_ he knew – was that Severus still had some old Muggle clothes upstairs which were not black: some shirts in various rich dark colours, even a couple of pairs of blue Muggle jeans, and some trousers in blue navy wool. Safer to keep them here than in London, where Lucius or another visitor might discover them. But in his wizard life he had always worn black. It was just – easier.

Then Dumbledore spoke again, startling him out of his reverie. 'Severus, I'm very sorry I didn't consult you before giving Remus a job here. Filius said to me – well, I think he's right as usual, he is so often much wiser than I am. I should have realised it would affect your peace of mind. I apologise.'

Severus tried not to get irritated – sometimes, just sometimes, Dumbledore's performance of humility could really grate on his nerves – and said only, 'A bit of warning would have helped.'

'I know. But I hope you can enjoy some leisure time until the Christmas holidays, and that Elizabeth takes up the offer to be your assistant. Let me know, won't you.'

Severus nodded.

'Oh, and I will make sure you aren't asked to cover any more of Remus's lessons. You are doing quite enough.'

He nodded again, and stood up. Suddenly he had run out of words, the revolving clock on the desk was gleaming too brightly, his back ached, he was starting to shiver again. He needed to get to bed.

'Severus?' Dumbledore said sharply. 'Are you all right? Do you need to use the Floo to get back?'

He gave one last violent nod, his eyes closed, unable to speak; and within seconds he had was in the fireplace, being wrenched away from Dumbledore's voice commanding 'Severus Snape's rooms_'_. He stumbled towards his bed, streaked with ashes, and crawled fully-clothed across the covers, before collapsing instantly into sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

To his amazement, Severus awoke on Saturday morning to find that it was nearly ten o'clock and he had slept through breakfast.

He sat up in bed, and saw a tray on the small table across the room; when he got out of bed in his nightshirt and went to investigate, he found, next to his coffee and porridge, a note in bright green ink: _Enjoy your lie-in! AD._

Under the note was his post – including, finally, a note from Lucius.

_Very much regret cannot make it to Hogsmeade this weekend. Yule Feast plan remains inviolable. Shall I perhaps stay two nights if Dumbledore will have me …? L._

Only after a few seconds did Severus recognise the unexpected feeling spreading through his stomach: it was relief. Yes, if he was absolutely honest, he didn't really want the excitement of seeing Lucius today. He was too drained from the awful week and the last thing he needed was to be awake all night with Lucius in a stuffy room at the Three Broomsticks, terrified Rosmerta or a house-elf would discover his presence. He only hoped Dumbledore had not recognised Lucius's handwriting, which he was undoubtedly familiar with, when he'd sent up Severus's post.

Anyway, now he had a much emptier weekend than he'd planned – though, orders or no orders, he would certainly continue to do a little work on the coconut ingredients, which were just plain interesting. But today – he filled his cup from the coffee pot and went barefoot to stand at the window – today was a crisp bright day, and he was going to spend it exactly as he liked.

An hour later, breakfasted, dressed in warm robes, and satisfied with his fifteen minutes of Occlumency practice, he was striding up the glen behind the castle, heading into the hills. He walked quickly, though already out of breath from lack of exercise, and when he reached the top of the ridge he was rewarded with a view of another glittering loch and some scattered snow on the peaks beyond.

He stood there, breathing heavily, enjoying the cold air on his cheeks. His mind was a little softened with tiredness, but he felt quite well, better than he had done for a long time. He could imagine spending a few happy hours chewing through a complex Arithmancy problem; he almost wished there was one that needed doing.

He could see now, with rest and a little distance, that Dumbledore would not have sacked him. That he had expected it was due only to his paranoia and anxiety, his old familiars, which crept back whenever he was foolish enough to stop regular Occlumency practice. Now he remembered that Dumbledore didn't punish people if he thought they were suffering: it was his creed. If he wanted to leave Hogwarts, either he would have to do something much worse (and even carrying on an affair with Lucius probably wouldn't count), or else he'd have to resign.

Dumbledore had always been more lenient than he'd had any right to expect. Years ago the old man had spoken of helping Severus to readjust and heal after his somewhat unsettled childhood and adolescence, and the years with Voldemort. 'It will take time, Severus, but I do believe that one day you will be able to enjoy your life.' Severus had made some retort, but he was honest enough to admit he'd hoped this would one day be true – and to admit now that the long-awaited readjustment had never happened.

He thought back to what Dumbledore had said last night about Lupin. Lupin too had suffered, had repeatedly lost control of his own body, all his friends had been murdered or turned into murderers, his life had been utterly destroyed – and yet he had recovered, he was cheerful and kind, and inclined to forgive. He seemed for some reason to _like_ Severus: Severus Snape, who had gone from the cleverest student Hogwarts had seen in years (McGonagall's words, many years ago) to a damaged, lonely, angry man, crouching for twelve years in the only place he felt safe. Lupin must be insane to want to get close to that – or perhaps it was just typical Gryffindor naivety.

A pair of ravens flew across the wide open space in front of him, croaking to each other. He felt a sudden inclination to seize a broomstick and fly after them, to enjoy the vast quantity of air, perhaps to swoop down low over the loch and skim the water at speed. He had never learned to do that.

Then again, perhaps Sirius Black was – he turned and saw even from this distance the Dementors gliding around the castle's turrets – perhaps Black was out here somewhere, hiding in the heather, or just down the hill in a crevice, waiting for a good angle to hit him with a Killing Curse.

He looked around, and gave a bit of a shiver. The hills were so quiet. He should go back. He would miss lunch if he didn't get a move on. With a final glance round at the empty hillside, a final deep breath of cold air, he began to descend the hill again towards the school.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed in a kind of peaceful melancholy: reflective, a little sad, but not agitated. He continued to prepare the ingredients for the new dose of Wolfsbane, distilling and re-distilling the glacial water on Saturday, and on Sunday grinding the poppyseed very fine and spreading it on a board to dry out.

After dinner on Sunday, somewhat reluctantly, but mindful of Dumbledore's orders, he took a book to the staff room and installed himself in a corner with a pot of tea. Flitwick, Sprout and Hooch were already there, and all greeted Severus without the slightest sign of surprise. As he sat down to read, he heard Sprout talking about the Longbottom boy, who had apparently done something impressive in her lesson, almost worthy of his parents. Then he was absorbed in _A Comparative Guide to European Plant Oils, Their Respective Histories, and Their Uses in Modern Potion-Making, 1609-1952. _

For more than half an hour he sat in the warm chair reading, his mind at ease, almost enjoying the hum of conversation behind him. He only looked up when the door opened and Lupin and McGonagall came in.

McGonagall was not quite so tactful. 'Severus!' she said with clear astonishment. 'To what do we owe this rare appearance?'

Lupin, next to her, was looking slightly uncomfortable – presumably he too remembered Dumbledore's little lecture of Friday night – and Severus felt his face go warm. 'Merely enjoying a comfortable chair by the fire, if that's not too much of a mystery to understand,' he sneered.

'What are you reading?' Lupin asked him.

He held up the book so Lupin could read the spine.

'Catchy title,' Lupin said. 'Is it as gripping as it sounds?'

Severus grunted, and the two Gryffindor teachers went over to join the others, house-elves rushing to put additional plates of cake and pots of tea on the table before they had even sat down. He went back to his book, but something kept him more conscious of Lupin than he would have liked. The werewolf was talking comfortably and amusingly, relating the story of a long-ago encounter with Nicholas Flamel which Severus could not help listening to. The others clearly liked him and had welcomed him quickly into the fold, laughing at his stories and telling him about the various idiotic and cowardly things his predecessor had done. No doubt Severus's attention was being confused by the knowledge that this book on plant oils might provide some help with the Wolfsbane. But if someone were to test Severus on the pages he had read since Lupin had come in, he would have scored very low.

Then Sprout's voice said, 'Right, Filius, Minerva, time for chess?' and he heard Flitwick enthusiastically agree. Severus gave up trying to read. He kept his eyes on his book, and even turned pages at random intervals, but listened hard as they set up the chess board and began a game. Conversation resumed between Hooch and Lupin, but the other three had fallen silent, except for regular murmured commands from Sprout and Flitwick to their chess pieces, and an occasional 'Hmm' from McGonagall, who seemed to be watching.

After a few minutes he heard the sound of breaking porcelain as a piece was smashed off the board by its capturer; then a second time. It sounded like they were trading pawns. Then McGonagall's voice: 'I think you may regret that,' though which player she was talking to wasn't clear.

When, after another couple of minutes, he heard Flitwick say, 'Oh, that's _very_ interesting,' Severus threw away his pride, got up, and went across the room; he took up a position standing beside McGonagall's chair, looking down at the board. The feelings that came when he saw the chess pieces, the close combinations in the centre of the board, the tension between two pawns – well, he was able to observe himself more calmly now he'd started practising Occlumency again, but it was still a powerful brew, a peculiar mixture of excitement and grief. He had not played at all for more than two years, and not seriously for eight, and that was – no, he wouldn't think about that. But straightaway he could sense all the complex tugs and shadows the pieces cast on each other; he could even see, as he suspected Sprout hadn't, a tiny threat brewing in the form of a queenside pawn. Two small hourglasses stood to one side of the board, one containing white sand and the other black. As Flitwick and Sprout alternated turns, the sand fell out of each hourglass, showing how much time each player had left. He observed that Flitwick had much less time than Sprout: if she could do enough to make him hesitate, it might be enough to win.

Then Sprout moved her king one square in the wrong direction – not a terrible blunder, just a small mistake. McGonagall sucked in a breath between her teeth, and Severus found himself giving a 'Mm' of wordless agreement.

'I wish I had the faintest idea what you're commenting on,' he heard Lupin say – and, looking up, Severus realised that both Lupin and Hooch had stopped talking, it must have been several minutes ago, and were also watching.

'Someone once gave me a chess set,' Hooch said, 'where all the pieces were on little brooms, and they all hovered above the board, and if you captured something then your own piece would fly up, like this' – she gestured – 'and do a loop-the-loop or something.'

'Oh, I'd love to see it,' Flitwick said, before he was shushed by Sprout, who was concentrating hard. By now the board was half-empty, and surrounded by porcelain shards and dusty: they were heading towards an endgame. Severus found he was almost tingling with longing to play – or if not to play, at least to keep watching others play, for as many hours as they kept it up.

As if reading his thoughts, McGonagall looked up. 'Would you like the next game, Severus? Or we could set up a second board?'

He managed to keep his voice cool. 'I have no desire to comprehensively embarrass myself, thank you.'

'But you're a terrific chess player,' Sprout protested, turning from the game to look at him.

'That is even more untrue now than it was a few years ago.'

'You can play against me any time you like,' Lupin said wryly. 'I assure you I would pose no threat whatsoever.'

'You did promise me a few games,' Flitwick said, 'so you can't back out.'

'Not here,' Severus said. 'In your office. Or mine.'

'We didn't specify,' Flitwick said, casually waving his bishop across the board to checkmate Sprout's king. 'You are in my debt, and I say a minimum of three games in my office so you can warm up a little, then a minimum of three games here.'

'With the fixture times to be posted on the staff noticeboard,' added Lupin, raising laughter from the others.

'I will grant you the three in your office,' Severus said. 'Now I believe the Deputy Headmistress has the next game?'

Flitwick shook his head in amused exasperation, but McGonagall and Sprout were already swapping chairs, so he said nothing and reset the board and the timers for the next game. Severus summoned another chair and sat down next to them.

As the silence of concentration fell again, Hooch excused herself to go and check on the Ravenclaws. Lupin did not, as Severus had expected, use this moment to take his leave too, but said a quiet goodnight to Hooch and continued to sit and watch – well, exactly _what_ he was watching wasn't clear, if he had little knowledge of chess, but he stayed anyway and thankfully made little disturbance.

Anyway, after a few minutes, Severus almost forgot Lupin was there, forgot everything except the complicated twists and weighing-ups in his mind as he analysed the game in front of him. It was so familiar, and so precise: he could sense, without needing to explain why to himself, that McGonagall was going to win. But also laid over everything was the shadow of another board, another room far away, a Muggle radio playing something soft and intimate, and a man opposite him, whose serious face suddenly looked up and broke into a grin –

No. This would not do. Then was then, and now was now, and chess was still chess. He would learn to separate them, that was all.

McGonagall was tightening the noose on Flitwick's king; suddenly she moved a rook into a bold sacrifice and it was clear the end was coming. Flitwick's sharp eyes flickered over the board for a minute or so, and he made a couple of moves that were obviously stalling for time. Then he cheerfully offered his hand out to her. 'Lovely playing.'

'Thank you,' McGonagall said, shaking his hand briefly. She had an air of calm which Severus had rarely seen in her; apparently playing chess pacified her usual anxiety.

'So have you all played since childhood?' Lupin asked.

'Yes, I think, if I can speak for all of us,' Flitwick said. 'I was at a tiny school in Wales, and they had a Charms teacher who also taught chess in the evenings – I benefited enormously from him, as you can imagine. And Minerva and Pomona both had parents who taught them, am I right?'

McGonagall and Sprout nodded, and explained: McGonagall's mother Milena, and Sprout's father Tiberius, had been their first teachers.

'And Severus was a member of my chess club when he was a boy,' Flitwick said, 'but you had played before that, I think?'

Severus nodded. 'My chess career has been somewhat patchy.' He didn't elaborate. He had learned from a book, of course, as he'd learned almost everything in his life. His parents hadn't had a chess set at home, but for hours in his room he'd studied positions, openings, endgames, and by the time he'd arrived at Hogwarts he was already one of the best players there, despite never having played an actual game of chess. But Flitwick's chess club had been a short-lived pleasure. The older Slytherins – Walden Macnair, the Lestrange brothers, even Lucius – were beginning to take notice of him, and at the beginning of fourth year Severus had left the chess club and begun to study the Dark Arts instead, desperate to make his way in the world.

'Didn't you have a playing partner in London for a while?' Sprout said, characteristically not minding her own business. 'I remember, you were always extra-sharp when you came back from the holidays.'

'Yes, I did.' Same old Slytherin training: don't hesitate, don't elaborate.

'Oh yes, I remember that too,' Flitwick said. 'Remind me of his name, was he a chess club alumnus like you?'

'No,' Severus said. 'He was actually – he grew up in Russia.' Best not to say he was a Muggle. Absolutely imperative not to say his name.

'Ah, I see,' Flitwick said, apparently not noticing his discomfort. 'What about you, Remus, I take it you don't play?'

Lupin shook his head. 'Unfortunately I have long passed the age when I might be able to pick up that sort of thing,' he said. 'But I can sit and admire your skill even with my limited understanding.' He glanced at Severus as if he were about to say more – or perhaps to ask more – but remained silent.

'I've an idea,' Flitwick said. 'I'll cast the Privacy Charm so Minerva and Pomona can't hear us, Remus, and I'll explain the next game to you as we go along. Unless Severus has changed his mind about playing? I can easily look out the second board for us.'

'Clearly you are determined to prove to witnesses how out of practice I am,' Severus retorted, 'but I can assure you my determination _not_ to play is far greater.' He ignored Lupin's grin of amusement.

* * *

Severus went back to his rooms having almost – _almost_ – enjoyed himself. Listening to Flitwick explain even the simplest principles of chess strategy to Lupin had been surprisingly soothing. He didn't often have the patience to listen to anyone else talk for long periods of time, especially if it was information he already knew, but Lupin had asked good questions, and neither of them had asked Severus to participate, which was exactly the way he wanted it. Between the commentary and the game itself, his mind had been completely filled to the brim, not needing to think about anything else.

He locked his bedroom door behind him, then went into his cupboard, and from a high shelf brought down a flat rosewood box, fixed shut with an ornate clasp. Even to hold the box was – difficult. By the time he'd placed the box onto the table he was starting to shiver slightly. He undid the clasp, unfolded the hinged lid, and lifted out the beautiful chessboard, which was rosewood inlaid with walnut and ivory squares, its base covered with green baize. In the box under the board were the chess pieces.

At the first sight of them he got up suddenly and made a circuit of the room, pausing at the window and looking out into the wintry darkness. Took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. Then he went back to look at the pieces.

There they were: the black rook missing some of its battlements; the white pawn that had replaced a lost one and didn't quite match its brothers; the chip on the black queen. He lifted the queen out of the case and sat it on his open palm, feeling its weighted base, staring at it.

'Pyotr,' he said. The Russian name, its dark vowel, and the black faceless queen, clenched a powerful fist of longing in his chest. He sighed, replaced the queen, laid the chessboard back over the top, and closed the rosewood box gently.


	16. Chapter 16

A couple of weeks went by. Elizabeth Quirke was astonished, and clearly a little terrified, to be offered the job of research assistant, but she agreed to start in January, working on Sunday and Wednesday nights. Severus did a little more low-key experimentation with the coconut ingredients, when he could be sure he wouldn't be rumbled by Dumbledore or another teacher, but mostly he stuck to a much gentler routine of teaching, marking, preparing the Wolfsbane for Lupin, regular small sessions of Occlumency, and reacquainting himself with chess. He spent four hours walking in the hills the next Saturday, protected by a few concealment charms, and returned pleasantly tired and resolving to walk more often. He was calmer, and less hostile to the students. He even found himself beginning to smile at one of George Weasley's jokes, before he realised he was being watched by twenty astonished students and clamped his face back into a frown.

He spent two evenings playing chess with Flitwick, and lost every game. 'You're getting better,' Flitwick said after the third defeat. 'Just think a little more about pawn placement.' Severus nodded, hating to have things explained to him, hating not to be brilliant at something where he'd once excelled, but knowing he needed the help. He wondered if he could be good enough to beat Flitwick or McGonagall by the summer, if he worked hard.

Of course, along with chess came memories of Pyotr – sitting beside him in a Muggle concert hall, the two of them lying at either end of the sofa reading with their legs comfortably entwined, watching Pyotr himself perform a concerto with his dark cello between his knees – but Severus was relieved to find the memories were mostly not overwhelming. There was no insomnia, of course, and there were no dreams. If Flitwick saw a slight tremor in his hands from time to time when he was playing chess, or saw a momentary clench of the jaw, he didn't comment.

The Christmas Hogsmeade visit took place, and Severus did not join his colleagues for a drink with the Minister for Magic, but wandered around the village keeping an eye on students, making sure Potter hadn't snuck in somehow, and taking the opportunity to stock up on ink and his preferred type of quills. Towards the end of the day he caught sight of Lupin, coming out of Horatio Hawkins Son Fine Stationers and Bookshop with a couple of wrapped parcels, but Lupin didn't see him and went off towards the apothecary in the darkening afternoon. Severus cast one glance up at the Shrieking Shack up on its gloomy hill, and decided it was time to head back to the castle.

Nothing was heard of Sirius Black.

The Yule Feast was approaching. In the final week of term, Severus counted at least thirty-four times when he'd found himself fantasising about Lucius while he was meant to be doing something else. There had been a few more notes from him, all extremely short but highly suggestive:

_One night only, I'm afraid. But we will make it count. L._

_Can't deny I'm looking forward to seeing how oblivious the old man is to the fact I'm fucking you. L._

_Would you rather I confiscated your wand for the whole night, or that I give you mine and put myself entirely at your mercy? L._

_I hope you don't have much to do the day after the Feast. I don't imagine being finished with you much before dawn. L._

The slips of parchment all carried a scent he knew was Lucius, but couldn't quite name – something with juniper, a little musky? – and although it was faint it was enough to make him glow with the heat of longing. Lucius would be _here_, in the staff room and in the Great Hall, dressed for celebration, anticipating a night of pleasure with him. No one else would know, no one would understand what they were feeling when they met each other's eyes. It made him light-headed with excitement to think of it.

He sent a note back to Lucius:

_In case we don't have a chance to arrange things – I will come to your room. They disable the Floo for guests and I have much more reason to be in the corridors late at night. Let me know which room he gives you. S._

And he let his anticipation out slowly, like a rope.

* * *

Two nights before the Yule Feast, two house-elves appeared suddenly in his bedroom while he was reading, just as he was starting to think about bed. 'Please sir,' one of them said, 'we is delivering you a box from London! We was instructed to bring it straight up to your rooms, it is not for potion-making sir, it's, um' –

'Personal,' supplied the other elf.

'Ah,' Severus said, putting down his book, trying to betray no curiosity. 'Thank you.'

The two elves bowed and vanished, and immediately he got up and strode over to the box, which was huge and flat. Levitating the whole thing onto his bed, he unfastened the cords around the box, threw them to one side, and lifted the lid.

The lid was printed on the underside with the initials _MH_: for Musters and Heaton, the most expensive wizarding outfitters in London. In the box was something large wrapped in tissue paper; when he lifted the paper aside, he saw a small card sitting on top of the black material.

_This garment has been enhanced with a Perfect Fit Charm (Enchantement pour la bonne taille), a unique spell developed by MH in association with the French outfitters Les Etoiles. This ingenious charm will, when activated, adjust the garment so it fits you exactly, as if it had been carefully tailored. If your shape or size changes in the future, you can re-activate the charm at any time, or bring the item into our Mayfair workshop for a complimentary refitting. Please see instructions on reverse._

There was nothing else – no note, no price tag. He looked at the bulky garment underneath. The material was – he touched it cautiously with a finger – black, yes but not just black. It seemed to be infused with a kind of black shimmer, which swirled under the surface. Had there been some kind of mistake? Surely this couldn't be for him.

When he levitated the contents of the box up into the air to see it, he had to hold back the exclamation that came automatically to his lips.

They were dress robes. Not just any dress robes – they were amazing – they were _exquisite_. The cloak was entirely made of the shimmering black material; the coat was in plain black silk, just short of knee-length, with sleeves coming to an elegant tapered opening at the wrists; and a pair of slim trousers in the black silk completed the set. They were dark and severe and fascinating. There was no doubt that they were for him.

His first thought was that Dumbledore had been inspired by their conversation to give him new dress robes for Christmas, as well as Lupin. But even as he started to unbutton his own black coat to try them on, he knew this couldn't be it. No employer, not even Dumbledore, would give a present like this, simultaneously so extravagant and so perfect. It could only be a lover – could only be Lucius.

He put the robes on – they hung rather loosely across his chest, and the trousers were a few inches too short – then picked up the card again and began to work the Perfect Fit Charm, placing his wand tip on each section of the robes and murmuring the French words. Once they felt right, and he had admired again the way the cuffs hugged his thin wrists and came to a slight point over the top of each of his hands, he went to the mirror to look.

'Fuck,' he whispered. Even in his stockinged feet and with his hair rather unkempt from a day of potions fumes, he knew he looked good. He could almost understand what Lucius saw in him. The fit of the robes did something to his face, he looked sterner, and when he turned to the side his nose made a pleasingly sharp angle against the light. He looked like _someone_. Perhaps under Lucius's patronage he might – he envisaged himself in one of the major wizarding cities, Paris or Bologna or Ghent, attending a prestigious ball, being offered all kinds of commissions – he might be able to access wizarding circles of the wealthy and powerful he wouldn't normally get anywhere near. Nothing nefarious, just – ambitious. He was still a Slytherin, after all.

Anyway, one thing was certain: he couldn't possibly wear these robes to Dumbledore's little Yule Feast. All his colleagues would ask him where they came from, and he'd rather die than have to say they were a gift, or even to pretend he'd bought them himself (which no one who knew him would believe anyway). And there was no way he wanted any of the students to see him dressed up like that. He would have to wear his usual modest black dress robes, and express his gratitude to Lucius in private.

He took one last look at himself in the robes, taking hold of the cloak and swirling it out to see the magic shimmering under its surface. He shook his head at the idea that Lucius might really expect him to wear these, but he couldn't help smiling too. What a ridiculous, generous thing to give him.

Warm with pleasure, he took the robes off, folded them carefully back into their box, and went into the bathroom. Even without them on he could feel himself moving differently, and there was something not unpleasing about his slim naked body in the mirror. Had the robes also come equipped with a Self-Esteem Charm? he wondered sardonically. _This unique spell will render you suddenly able to find yourself attractive when you never have before! _He snorted, and pulled his nightshirt on. 'Don't lose your head,' he murmured to his reflection in the mirror, noticing his slightly dazed expression. He mustn't get attached. Lucius was – all the things he was – and he had expressly stipulated there must be no attachment or expectations – but this – the robes …

He went back into the bedroom and had to resist the urge to throw his nightshirt off and put the wonderful robes back on. Instead he went to the window and looked out at the waxing moon, imagining how it might go. Lucius's cool grey eyes, looking at him with approval, and the flicker of anticipation. That juniper smell coming off Lucius's long pale hair. A slight brush of their bodies unnoticed by anyone except themselves, and, finally, the moment he would arrive in Lucius's room after the rest of the castle was asleep, and allow his face to crease into the sneer of desire he had suppressed for so many weeks.

Oh god, he couldn't wait.


	17. Chapter 17

It was six o'clock. The Hogwarts staff, minus their Headmaster, were gathered in the staff room, drinks in hands. Term had officially ended, and most of Severus's colleagues were smiling and, in some cases, tossing back pre-prandial glasses of elderflower wine or mulled mead. Sprout and Filch were fairly far along already, and McGonagall was watching them over the top of her glasses with evident disapproval.

Severus was sitting in a corner in his plain black robes, drinking plain water, and hoping fervently that his nervousness looked more like awkwardness and misery, which were certainly the emotions he would normally be feeling at an event like this. He was counting the seconds. The governors were already here – Lucius was in the castle, _right now_ – and had been closeted in Dumbledore's office all afternoon for their termly meeting. Around half past five they had disbanded and gone to dress for dinner, and now they were expected any moment.

For a moment his eyes fell on Lupin, who was chatting to Flitwick and appeared to be taking his time over a glass of wine. He too looked a little nervous, though immaculate in a set of dark red dress robes, with his hair combed back and his shoes polished. The robes suited him – they were simply cut, and the colour brought out a little warmth in his skin. Dumbledore had done well, Severus concluded.

Finally there came a rush of voices in the corridor, and people began to come in: Dumbledore leading the way in spangled purple robes, then the governors and their guests – Severus stood up, his breath coming shallowly – here were Agatha and Amelia Bones, then Bertram Bartleby-Crouch and his wife, and Artibius Ratch, and Felicity Merrythought – they greeted the Hogwarts staff, bunched around the drinks trays, separated into groups – more people appeared, the Flints, the Abbotts, the Minister's secretary Benedict Webb – and Severus gripped the back of a chair with one hand, seized by a sudden fear that Lucius hadn't come –

But here he was. He came in last of all, and _Merlin_, he was dazzling: in beautiful grey silk robes, his pale hair loose down his back, his chin slightly up, and a slight sneer on his face as he moved into the room, his eyes searching among the staff.

He saw Severus; and although he came over slowly, there was no mistaking the purpose in his body, nor the way his face tightened into an even more pronounced sneer.

Severus ducked his head momentarily, arranging his expression, then looked up into his lover's face as he came to a halt in front of him. 'Hello, Lucius,' he said calmly.

'Severus. Are you well?'

'Tolerable, thank you. And you?' Oh, he could smell him. There was the sharp juniper scent, whatever it was, and underneath the warmth of his body. He wanted to get right in close to that smell, to touch and knead and taste. It was going to be a very long evening.

Lucius exhaled slowly, as if calming his own feelings. 'Not bad,' he said. 'It was a long meeting. I'm very ready for a holiday.'

'Of course. So you're staying tonight and taking Draco home with you in the morning?' Severus kept his face schooled into polite blankness, while the desire roared in his belly. He could feel the glances of some of his colleagues, some curious, others (he didn't doubt) disapproving of two old Death Eaters exchanging small talk.

'That's the plan,' Lucius said, taking a glass of wine from a tray held out by a house-elf; when Severus refused a glass, Lucius said, 'You're not drinking?'

'I'm afraid I've lost the taste for it these days,' Severus said. Of course this was just for show: Lucius knew full well that he rarely drank alcohol, especially at school. 'I hope you've been accommodated well here?'

'Yes, he's given me the Unicorn Room, do you know it?'

He nodded, giving Lucius the briefest arch of an eyebrow to acknowledge the transmission of information. 'Indeed. Some very fine tapestries. But it's a while since I've seen them.'

'Very fine. Come up with me later and have a look, if you want to refresh your memory.'

'Thank you, but I imagine I'll be expected to patrol the corridors after dinner, to make sure the students go to bed when they're told.'

'Ah well,' Lucius said. 'Then I too shall go to bed when I'm told.'

They held each other's eyes for a long, hot moment; then Lucius turned and looked around at the clusters of witches and wizards. 'Not a bad little gathering. Who's that?'

'Who?' He followed Lucius's gaze. 'Oh. That's Lupin.'

Lucius turned back to him. 'The new Defence teacher? Sirius Black's little friend?'

'Yes, don't you remember him from school?'

'Not as such.' Suddenly Lucius lowered his voice a little. 'I had hoped you might be _wearing_ them.'

Severus blinked, caught by surprise. Then he said, his voice also low, 'How could I possibly – here?' He took a breath. 'But they are – very – appreciated.'

Lucius flickered an eyebrow. 'I'm glad. Bring them tonight. Will you introduce me to Lupin?' He was already turning away and moving across the room before Severus had registered what he'd said. 'Oh god,' he muttered, and quickly followed, foreseeing disaster.

Lupin had seen Lucius coming; he was watching them approach with clear consternation, even alarm. Severus managed to catch up in time to make the introduction. 'Lupin, Lucius has asked to meet you, since you teach his son. Professor Remus Lupin – Lucius Malfoy.'

Lucius was the first to bow, his usual elegant curve down and back. After a momentary hesitation Lupin returned a slight but definite bow, ducking his head and bending a little at the waist. Lucius smiled and straightened up. 'I hear you're the best Defence teacher we've had in years.'

Lupin raised his eyebrows politely. 'Am I?'

'Well, Draco isn't especially forthcoming in his letters,' Lucius said, 'but he did ask me if there were any Boggarts lurking around at home he could do battle with. Which I take to be a good sign.'

'I'm – pleased to hear that,' Lupin said. He was pale, and sounded a little uncertain, but was clearly determined to hold his nerve. 'Draco certainly has talent.'

'That's very kind of you to say,' Lucius said. 'If you're here for a while I hope you'll be able to continue developing his potential. How much teaching experience do you have?'

Here it was, Severus thought. The first in what would no doubt be a long series of barbs.

But Lupin didn't look at all discomfited. 'None, actually,' he said. 'Dumbledore employed me as someone with knowledge in the subject rather than as an expert pedagogue. I'm hoping that will grow with time, of course.'

Suddenly Dumbledore tapped Severus on the shoulder: 'Severus, would you come and talk to Mariana Flint about Marcus's progress? She's worried about his OWLs …'

Severus went with the Headmaster, flashing a look of warning at Lucius before he went. Once they were out of earshot he said in a low voice, 'I don't think Lupin should be left alone with Lucius Malfoy.'

'On the contrary,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, 'I think it's a good chance for Remus to show Lucius he can't be bullied. Good choice on the colour for the dress robes, by the way. Don't you think they suit him?'

'They're fine,' Severus said. He looked back at Lucius and Lupin, who were still conversing, both with fairly pleasant expressions. How long would it last, he wondered, before things started to get ugly. Lupin had shown himself not easily provoked in recent months – but then, Severus hadn't really been trying all that hard, and Lucius of all people knew how to rile someone up if he set his mind to it.

He got the conversation with Flint's mother over as quickly as he could – Flint was going to fail most of his OWLs, there were only so many ways he could say it – but it was still a few minutes before he could get back to Lucius and Lupin. He was astonished to see that Lupin was actually smiling – not a polite crease of the mouth, but a real, relaxed smile.

'Apologies for that,' Severus said as they turned to greet him.

'Not at all,' Lucius said. 'I've been most enjoyably entertained. Lupin was telling me about some of the things the Boggart transformed into during his lesson.'

Severus threw a glance at Lupin. 'Without the students' names, I hope.'

'Oh, of course, completely anonymously,' Lucius assured him. 'Though I would pay good money to know who fears _you_ above all things.'

He ignored Lupin's grin. 'I would put it down to a lack of imagination on the part of this particular individual,' he said dryly.

He was gratified to see Lucius laugh. 'Oh, I have no doubt you can be supremely terrifying,' Lucius said. Then he turned to Lupin. 'What would a Boggart change into for Severus, do you think?'

'A ban on books?' Lupin suggested. 'Compulsory regular socialising?'

Lucius gave another laugh, a low, warm sound which made Severus's whole body throb for a moment. 'Perhaps you should order in another Boggart, Lupin,' Lucius said, 'and surprise him with it one day, to find out.'

Lupin smiled. 'I suspect I'd just about live long enough to see what it became before Severus put an end to both the Boggart and _me_.'

Severus inclined his head, trying not to reveal his increasing bafflement. 'Indeed.'

This was extraordinary. Lucius Malfoy and Remus Lupin _getting on_? Joking together? Joking together about _him_? Even if Lucius was doing it as a way of covertly flirting with Severus, or simply for his own amusement, what on earth was Lupin doing? Had he forgotten Lucius was a pureblood former Death Eater, who had helped Voldemort to murder many of his friends and now sat comfortably in his own wealth and power?

Before he could speculate any further, however, Lucius was pounced upon by Felicity Merrythought, who was making the rounds and wanted to reminisce about her mother; Lucius made another graceful bow, his grey silk rustling, and stepped away with her.

Lupin and Severus watched him go; then Severus said, 'That was – unexpected.'

Lupin looked at him. 'Which part?' He looked rather flushed; _exhilarated_, Severus realised, was the word that came to mind.

'The part where you and Lucius Malfoy conversed amicably for nearly fifteen minutes.'

Lupin nodded for a couple of seconds, looking thoughtful, then said, 'Well, yes. He's certainly very good at making himself charming.'

'And are you – charmed? I hadn't imagined you would give him the satisfaction.'

'True, but sustaining a grudge is so exhausting, don't you find? Especially – well, I want to keep this job, and he seems an important person to be on the right side of.'

Severus suspected Lupin was not being entirely truthful – he _liked_ Lucius, that's what he was unwilling to admit – but said nothing more. It was only one conversation. Best not to show himself too interested in who Lucius did or didn't manage to charm.

'By the way,' Lupin said, turning to him again. 'Thank you for the Christmas present.'

'What?'

'These.' Lupin lifted his arm to indicate his own robes. 'I know technically they were from Albus, but I take it you must have said something to him?'

He couldn't be bothered to lie. 'I mentioned it. You would attract attention if you appeared underpaid.'

'Well, they're very nice, I'm very grateful,' Lupin said. Then he grinned. 'Though presumably you didn't suggest Albus should get them in a Gryffindor colour.'

'No,' Severus said. 'No, I suggested green with silver trim and a repeating snake motif, but for some reason he didn't follow my advice.'

Lupin laughed, and Severus gave a small smile – if only because his lover was in the room and he was feeling almost congenial.

'Also,' Lupin said, lowering his voice a little, 'I should have told you ages ago. The effect of the potion when I drink it' –

'Oh, yes,' Severus said, cutting him off. 'I worked that out weeks ago.'

Lupin looked a little taken aback. 'Ah.'

Immediately Severus regretted interrupting him. He would have rather enjoyed seeing Lupin squirm as he admitted his own arousal. On the other hand, being able to tell Lupin he didn't need to embarrass himself in the noble service of research, that the information didn't have the value Lupin had thought, was not without its satisfaction.

'Well, you see why I didn't want to tell you,' Lupin said, grinning a little sheepishly.

'You think I've never heard of a potion giving the drinker an erection?' Severus said coolly. 'Even Muggles have a drug for that.'

'No!' Lupin protested, then looked even more embarrassed. 'I mean, it doesn't exactly do _that_, it's just …'

'Somewhere on the spectrum of sexual arousal?'

'Well – yes, if you want to put it so clinically.'

'I see. Well, if there are any other effects you're feeling childishly squeamish about, perhaps you'll manage to let me know next time,' Severus said. His attention was drifting away from the conversation. Lucius was right over on the other side of the room, and Severus saw his head tip back as he laughed at something Felicity Merrythought had said. She wasn't bad looking – and only in her mid-forties – plenty young enough for Lucius if he wanted to –

No. Not an acceptable line of thought. Lucius was here to see _him_, he'd made that very clear. They had the whole night ahead of them, and then it would be the holidays, and he would be able to stay in London and see him as often as he was wanted. Only a few more days until the full moon, and then he would be free.

Lupin hadn't reacted to his retort. He seemed to be trying to work out the right thing to say. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however, the gong sounded for dinner, struck by an elf holding a mallet almost as big as its own body, and Lupin laughed. 'Ah well. Let's eat.'

'Yes,' Severus murmured, still watching Lucius. For a moment Lucius's head turned, the heavy line of his pale hair, and met his eyes across the room. His chest went tight with longing.

Then Dumbledore was at the front of the room, addressing them. 'My friends, my colleagues!' he said happily. 'Welcome to this little Yule gathering. I want to thank each and every one of you for all your hard work this term, which has been, I think it's fair to say, more difficult than most.'

He wasn't wrong, Severus thought darkly.

'But I hope everyone is in good health, and good spirits, and if not I hope the feast and the subsequent holiday will do something to change that. And now I have no wish to delay your enjoyment further. To the Great Hall!'

Lupin leaned towards Severus and murmured, 'If he doesn't want to delay our enjoyment, perhaps he could just cancel the feast and let us get started on the real celebrating.'

'Something like that,' Severus murmured.

As everyone moved towards the door, he caught Lucius's eye again across the room. Lucius had escaped Felicity Merrythought and was standing alone; he held Severus's look with a faint, knowing smile, and gave a slow nod: once, then again. It promised – well, everything.

He took a long, shaky breath – only a few more hours – and went into dinner.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who've reviewed, subscribed and favourited since the last chapter – it helps me keep up the momentum! –SS–_


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